


with no way out and a long way down

by we_are_the_same



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician), zayn malik - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, No Smut, Prince Harry Styles, Strangers to Lovers, minor ziam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:27:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22464079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/we_are_the_same/pseuds/we_are_the_same
Summary: Prince Harry is ten when he receives his soulmark.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, Niall Horan & Harry Styles, Zayn Malik/Liam Payne
Comments: 95
Kudos: 667
Collections: HL Royalty Fic Fest 2019/20





	with no way out and a long way down

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely adored writing this fic. It was a process, but one I definitely enjoyed. Over the course of the last few months I've had several people reading along with me, offering constructive criticism or just shouting in the comments, both of which are incredibly valued!
> 
> As always, my love and thanks go out to Emmi, Sarah and Caroline. My writing wouldn't be the same without you, nor would my life. I appreciate you all more than you know.  
> A massive thanks also to Dee for reading this fic and motivating me when I was struggling to finish it!  
> Thank you to the lovely mod of the royaltyfest, I had a blast writing this and I can't wait to read all the wonderful fics that will be posted thanks to all your hard work!
> 
> This fic does mention the Tomlinson family, but it's brief and I hope you'll give it a shot regardless.

~~♥~~

When Prince Harry Edward Desmond Styles, of the reigning House of Styles, the Royal Family of the United Kingdom and its Commonwealth Countries, is ten, he receives his soulmark. 

One morning, he wakes up just like on any other day, only to find a small black mark inked on his left wrist, spelling out his soulmate’s initials. 

LT.

He wonders, briefly, if his soulmate has his full initials on their wrist, or if it simply reads HS. He wonders what his soulmate’s name is, if he will meet them soon, or if theirs will be a love ages in the making.

He runs to his mother, eager to show her the mark, only to hear that he must keep it covered up at all times. It’s safer that way, she says, and though Harry doesn’t understand - doesn’t she want him to meet his soulmate? - he’s only ten, and there is plenty of time for growing up and falling in love. So he just nods and hugs her and for a while, he almost forgets about his soulmark. 

But sometimes when he’s alone, in his room at night, he dreams about what it’ll be like to be grown, to meet that one person that will make his heart soar.

*

Prince Harry is thirteen when he starts sitting in on meetings. Although he isn’t first in line for the throne - his sister Gemma is - he is still meant to learn about all the things that are involved in running (and ruling) a country. He is thirteen and the meetings sometimes bore him to death, but he’s forced to attend them, and no matter how often he begs his mum to be allowed to bow out, those weekly meetings become a staple in his schedule.

Along with normal classes and lessons on etiquette and governance, he also learns how to ride horses, play the piano, and studies French and Spanish. He plays polo and golf, and there are times when the first moment he has to himself all day is when he finally crawls into bed at night. 

At least he has Liam though. His friend, his confidant, technically his valet, but as they are a similar age, they are friends more than anything. He comes into Harry’s room at the end of the day, helps him prepare for the night, which mostly means that they chat about life, love, and all kinds of things that thirteen year old boys talk about.

Liam is the first person Harry confides in about his soulmate, the first person he tells - with wavering breath - that he really wants his soulmate to be a boy. He swears him to secrecy, but Liam just hugs him and kisses his temple and tells him ‘he will be’ and Harry isn’t so scared anymore now that he has someone to share his secret.

It isn’t that being gay is that much of an issue in their country these days; tons of prominent people marry spouses of the same gender. But for a thirteen year old boy, let alone a _Prince_ , the thought of coming out - facing all the attention that will get him in the press - is just a little too daunting. Thankfully, Liam keeps his word, and with it Harry’s secret.

*

Harry is fifteen when one of his secrets becomes public. Much like the morning he’d woken up with his soulmark, this time he wakes up to pictures of it printed on the glossy cover of magazines, to news outlets reporting that the young Prince’s soulmate went by the initials LT. 

He further wakes up to the palace in a panic, is ushered into a meeting before he’s even had breakfast, and has to sit through a lecture about how irresponsible he’d been, letting people see his soulmark. Despite the fact that Harry insists he has no idea how anyone had found out - and he truly doesn’t, he _has_ been careful - he is met with disappointed faces and gets berated by his mother in such a stern way that he wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and cry.

Instead he is made to give a formal statement to the press, verifying that _yes_ , his soulmate goes by the initials LT, but he is too young to even think about romance, so he kindly requests peace and patience while he navigates through his teens. 

Of course, as he’s sure his family had expected, the public doesn’t listen, and the very next day there are people queueing up, hoping to get invited to the castle, to be given a chance to meet their potential soulmate. Harry knows that part of it is people just looking for their five minutes of fame, for the chance to become a member of the Royal Family, but despite his misgivings, there is a part of him that feels excited too.

Regardless of the circumstances, the idea of meeting the love of his life is one he can only look forward to. 

Even if he is only fifteen, and even if he has just made that speech about wanting to grow up a little more before he settles down.

But no one is allowed entrance to the castle. The many girls - because his other secret is still kept a secret, thankfully, so almost all of the hopefuls are female - who have shown up are gently refused access, and when the amount of people becomes too much, the castle hires a burly man named Paul to make sure that everyone is turned away. 

Liam, whenever he can, takes pictures of the queue, and together they pour over the faces of the people that think they could be Harry’s soulmate, and giggle about finding ways to meet some of them without the Queen’s knowledge. 

Because that is all it will take. One meeting, and Harry will know. 

And he will live happily ever after.

*

When Harry is sixteen and a half, Liam tells him about Landon Taylour, who has a mutual friend in common with Liam, is of noble birth, gay, and only a few years older than Harry. 

Paul still works for the family, because although it has been a year and a half since news of his soulmark broke, the fact that the Prince hasn’t found his soulmate yet bolsters the confidence of some hopefuls, and barely a day goes by without people showing up to the castle, all those who show up certain that they will be the exception, and won’t be turned away.

(The Royal advisor firmly discounts the rumor that Prince Harry is shallow, for rejecting his soulmates so harshly, but according to Liam many of the public still consider him an asshole, presumably rejecting people solely based on looks. Harry sometimes wishes he could meet them, just to dispel that rumour, but although he’s been sitting in on meetings since he was thirteen, he still isn’t allowed a say in his own love life.)

Despite the fact that Paul looks burly and perhaps even a little strict, he’s a giant teddy bear, with a fondness for Prince Harry that Harry swears never to take advantage of. 

At the same time, he really wants to meet this Landon Taylour, who might just be everything Harry has dreamed of, and he knows that the only way is with Paul’s help, or at least quiet complicity. So he begs and wheedles - never once using his title as a way to get what he wants, as that is not the sort of person he wants to be - and bats his lashes and Paul, with a long suffering sigh, gives in.

He’s pretty sure Gemma knows, but when she notices him sneaking out of his room to go meet Landon, dressed to the nines, she doesn’t say anything, just fixes an unruly curl and smiles before continuing on her way.

Gemma hasn’t met her soulmate either, and she’s nearing her twentieth birthday, something that Harry can tell weighs on her, as she smiles a little less with every passing day. It’s barely more than a year before she is meant to ascend the throne, and if she doesn’t find her soulmate in time, she’ll have to find someone else to marry.

That is the rule of their country, after all. Ancient laws written long before even his mother was a twinkle in the eye of her mother. To uphold stability in the kingdom, all Kings or Queens must be married, and to prevent age from catching up or the King or Queen from becoming too obsessed with their power, the throne must be passed over to the first in line no later than their twenty first birthday. 

There are plenty of arranged marriages in their lineage alone. With their soulmarks meant to stay hidden (and what had happened to Harry sadly was proof of why that was the right idea), the chance of meeting their soulmates are slim, and most marriages are set up between royals of neighbouring countries or with someone of noble birth at the very least, furthering peace and assuring a noble bloodline. 

Harry knows Gemma is just as much of a romantic as he is though, that she wants to spend her life with her soulmate, not with someone that just happens to be noble, rich, and/or in line to the throne of another country. So he understands why she doesn’t say anything, and with her tacit approval, Harry heads towards the Royal Courtyard, where the flowers bloom and the air is permeated with their sweet scent, making Harry feel dizzy with the prospect of finally laying eyes on the person he is meant to spend the rest of his life with. 

He is nervous, but the moment he lays eyes on Landon, he can feel himself relax, and that, that means something, doesn’t it? 

Landon is handsome and kind and funny, and it isn’t long before Harry is smitten.

It also isn’t long before his mother finds out, but once she meets Landon, she isn’t as upset with Harry as he thought she’d be. She does let Paul do a little research, makes Landon show his soulmark, even asks around to confirm that it hasn’t been altered - and Harry didn’t even know that was possible, but it makes him wary of the people that had been wanting to meet him, makes him so glad he’s met his soulmate at such a young age. But it all seems to fit so perfectly, just like Harry has always been told it would. 

HS has found his LT, and the rest will be smooth sailing.

This time, the palace is the one to break the news, making a statement that yes, Prince Harry has found his soulmate, but that they request privacy, be given ‘time to enjoy and grow in their relationship’. There is an influx of people (mostly paparazzi) the next day, but over the course of the next week and a half, interest wanes, and for the first time since the news of his soulmark broke, Harry doesn’t have people lining up to meet him.

He has the privacy and the peace he has asked for, the boyfriend he’s always dreamed of, and life can’t get more perfect.

*

Not long after Harry turns seventeen, Gemma comes into his room one night, crawling into bed with him the way she did when they were kids. She cuddles up with him, tucking her head under his chin, squeezing his waist, and Harry finds himself dropping a kiss onto the top of her hair, filled with the strange desire to comfort her even though she hasn’t said a word.

She stays silent for the longest time. Harry, unsure what she needs, wants to speak up, but somehow knows that it isn’t the right idea. So he stays silent, brushes his hand down her spine and hopes that she knows that he’ll be here for her, as she has always been for him.

“Are you happy?” She asks, eventually, and Harry thinks of Landon, thinks of Liam and Paul and all the people in the castle that always make him feel special, not because he is a Prince but because he is Harry. He nods. 

“Harry,” she stays quiet for a moment longer, almost hiding against him when she speaks. “I don’t think I want to be Queen.” It’s mumbled, and Harry barely has time to comprehend what she says when she repeats it, more sure this time. “I mean. I _know_ I don’t want to be Queen.”

Harry feels a bombardment of emotions flooding his brain, thoughts too fast to really make sense of any of them. He must have tensed, because Gemma lets out this soft sound, one that sounds so hurt that Harry can only hold onto her tighter. “I want to find love, on my own terms, in my own time. I want what you have. A soulmate.” She says, and Harry swallows and doesn’t scream, even if part of him wants to. “That’s - it’s part of it. It’s not all of it. I’m not, I feel like you should’ve been the first born. You’ve got more charm, people _love_ you.”

Harry doesn’t point out the part of the public that has always seemed so eager to vilify him, for not humouring every person that thought they were his soulmate. He doesn’t say that even now, there are articles written online, trashing him. Because he knows that those are just gossip magazines, and he knows that he isn’t the only member of the Royal Family to be talked about in this way. He just says “Gemma.”

Gemma lets out another one of those sounds, and Harry doesn’t want to be King any more than Gemma wants to be Queen, but he doesn’t feel right in saying that when she’s got a point. At least he has his soulmate. He’s not sure he is actually loved more or is better suited for the throne, but he also knows that he’s got almost four years to figure it out, where Gemma only has a year left. If she says she can’t do it, who is he to protest? 

“I’ll support you,” he says, and he’ll have to be forgiven if it sounds a bit weak. “Whatever you decide, Gems, I’ll support you.”

So when he is seventeen, twenty year old Princess Gemma Anne Elizabeth Styles abdicates the throne, and Prince Harry Edward Desmond Styles becomes the Crown Prince. 

*

It’s just a few months later that Harry comes to the realization that perhaps Landon isn’t his soulmate after all. It feels weird just thinking it, let alone contemplate saying the words, and he tests them out in his bedroom one night, when he’s alone. “I don’t think Landon is my soulmate,” he tells the mirror, and mirror!Harry eyes him critically. There’s a part of him that expected a weight to drop off his shoulders at saying those words out loud, hearing them, but his stomach just feels heavy. 

The thing is, he’s not sure? There’s no particular reason that Landon can’t be his soulmate; he certainly fits all the criteria, and he’s of noble birth to boot. But whenever Harry thinks of ruling the country, he somehow can’t see himself doing it with Landon beside him.

It’s not that he’s not sweet, or smart, or handsome or funny or all those things that Harry had wanted his soulmate to be. He’s just-

 _Wrong_.

Harry feels wrong with him, is what it is, and though he wants to take the words back and unthink the thought, he can’t. It becomes something he obsesses over at night, something he debates telling him but every time he tries to bring it up the words stick in his throat. 

He’s scared. Scared of being wrong, scared of being right. Scared of what it will mean for his future, because if Landon isn’t his soulmate then that means someone else is, and what if Harry doesn’t find them in time for him to ascend the throne? What if he _never_ meets them? Or what if he does, but he doesn’t realize it? What if Landon _is_ his soulmate and Harry is just broken?

It’s after a long day of meetings, when Liam’s taking just a bit too long on the way to his room, that Harry snaps. He barely manages not to throw the door in Liam’s face, and when all he’s greeted with is a surprised but sympathetic look, Harry simultaneously wants to punch him and beg for a hug. The intensity scares him, and for a moment he just stands there in the middle of his room and does nothing. 

“Harry?” It’s soft, _understanding_ in the way that Liam has always been. Harry’s not sure if it’s something he was brought up with, knowing that he’d be serving royalty, or if it’s something that’s always been inside of him, but he’s at once grateful and angry at Liam for being so patient with him when part of him just wants to lash out. 

“I-” he starts, and promptly breaks down in tears instead. 

Liam, bless him, doesn’t come to his side right away, because he knows Harry and he knows that if he hugs him right now, things might only get worse. He stays near the door, closing it so no one can come in, and it’s only when Harry raises watery eyes to meet him that he moves over, wraps arms around him and leads him to sit down on the bed. He doesn’t say anything, not while Harry cries and not after, just offers him a handkerchief and doesn’t even flinch when Harry hands it back to him after he’s blown his nose. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, and he’s not sure if he’s talking about the handkerchief, the fact that he cried on Liam’s shoulder, or that he nearly brained Liam with the door a little bit earlier. Maybe all of it. It doesn’t matter, because Liam understands. Liam always understands, and Harry sort of wishes that Liam would’ve been his soulmate, because at least then he’d feel like he was able to breathe.

“You’ve got your reasons,” Liam says, and Harry likes how he doesn’t say it’s okay. How even though Harry’s a Prince and Liam is not, both of them know that Harry was out of order in the way he treated him. “Wanna tell me about them?” He asks, quietly, and Harry shivers.

“No,” he whispers, but he swallows. “Yes.” He doesn’t want to say it - not to someone else. Because that makes it real, more real than the few times he’s told it to the mirror, because although his reflection is critical it’s also not going to judge. It’s not going to make a difference, saying it out loud to himself. With Liam, it just might make all the difference. 

Liam doesn’t push him either way, just nods, as though both of those answers are perfectly reasonable. Harry brushes his sleeve past his nose, breathes out a shivery sigh. “I don't think Landon is my soulmate.” 

The world still turns, the clock doesn’t even stop ticking, and when Harry opens his eyes Liam is still Liam. Sweet, genuine Liam, who just looks at him with the barest hint of a frown. It’s enough to make Harry want to take it all back. To say that he’s just joking, of course he is, but before he can, Liam nods. “I've wondered,” he says softly, and Harry just about crumbles. Because if Liam isn’t sure, then that’s really all the proof he needs.

*

It only takes Harry a few more days after that before he breaks things off with Landon. This time there’s no immediate statement to the press. There’s just Harry, in bed, Gemma and Anne beside him, offering comfort and trying to soothe a broken heart. 

Harry knows that he’ll have to resurface eventually, knows that he’ll have to address the situation and prepare himself for the onslaught of people who will have their hopes rekindled, now that Prince Harry hasn’t found his soulmate after all. He knows that he’ll have over three years to find his true soulmate, but right now, it all just feels a bit too daunting. Right now, he just wants to stay in bed, and be cuddled by his mother and his sister, not the Queen and the Princess. Everything else will have to wait.

*

When Harry eventually feels strong enough to speak to the press he’s advised against it, rather adamantly, in those weekly meetings that he isn’t allowed to miss, even while being brokenhearted. The Royal Advisor wants to make a statement in his name, has put words onto paper that sound perfect but that just make Harry want to scream. They absolutely refuse to let him speak with the press on his own, no matter what Harry says, until Gemma takes him aside and reminds him that _he_ has the power. If he truly wants this, she emphasizes to him, he can always threaten to walk away from all of his responsibilities. She’s right, and they all know it, because as soon as he even hints towards disobedience, they change their tune, and despite the fact that they’re still reluctant and Harry is cautioned not to say anything besides what they’ve rehearsed, they allow him in front of a very select group of press.

Harry, staring at the faces of reporters eager for a soundbite, realizes that he has no idea where to begin, and the weight is still there in his stomach when he tries. He can’t help thinking of Landon, of how hurt he’d looked and how he’d asked Harry if he was sure, and part of Harry still wonders if he’s made a terrible mistake. But he reminds himself that when he’s alone, at night in bed, he thinks about ruling the country and there’s relief in knowing that it won’t be Landon by his side, and that sounds awful but it’s what gives Harry the courage to get through this meeting. “Hi,” he tells the press, timid and afraid at first, but he meets Gemma’s eyes and sees Liam’s covert thumbs up and it helps him straighten up a bit. 

“As you’ve all undoubtedly gathered by now, Landon and I have decided to end our relationship.” It feels stiff, formal, but he’s afraid of letting his guard down and saying too much. “We’ve discovered that, although we very much loved one another, we aren’t soulmates, and we felt it was unfair to keep each other from finding the true love of our life.” 

The thing is, Harry knows Landon would have stayed with him, if he’d asked, not because of the status but because they made each other happy. The break up wasn’t as mutual as Harry is making it sound right now, but Harry doesn’t want to paint Landon as the one to be pitied, knows that he wouldn’t want that, would want the tears and begging to remain private, as much of their relationship had thankfully been. “I wish him all the best, as he does me, and I kindly request privacy for both of us, as we-” 

Harry pauses. He knows what he’s meant to say, something about healing from a broken heart, but he can see the people in the room, knows that the people watching this, or reading a transcript in the newspaper, maybe those free ones that they hand out on the train, won’t give him privacy no matter how much he asks for it. 

So he just shrugs, gives them a small sort of smile. “I want to meet my soulmate,” he says instead, going off script with another, smaller shrug. “I thought I did, in Landon, but now I know that there’s someone out there who will make me even happier. Who will be everything I want, and everything I need. I’m - I’m not ready, but I’m _ready_. So,” he finds a camera, focuses his gaze on it, drowning out the people watching, the court and the advisors and everyone who will undoubtedly give him grief later. He’s just speaking to him now, to the one that holds his heart even if he doesn’t know it yet. “I’m here. Waiting for you. Come find me.”

He is rushed out of the room barely a minute later, gets stern talking to’s from not just the Royal Press Advisors but from what feels like the whole staff, and when he’s finally brought in front of the Queen there’s tears in his eyes and he’s sure he’ll end up embarrassing himself if she scolds him too. She takes one look at him and Harry steels himself, but then she steps down from her throne and wraps her arms around him and just holds him. And Harry knows that tomorrow will be a lot harder than today has been, but he also knows that as long as he has his mum and his sister and Liam, he will get through it.

*

Unlike last time, this time around Harry insists on meeting at least some of the people that show up to the castle, his reasoning being that since he said he wanted his soulmate to come find him, it wouldn’t be fair to disregard the many hopefuls that could potentially be his soulmate. The advisors aren’t happy about it, and try to dissuade him, but Harry can be stubborn. Maybe it’s childish, refusing to sit in on his usual weekly meeting simply if he won’t get his way, but he’s learning that sometimes that’s what it takes just to be heard.

Now that he’s publicly dated a boy, there’s not just girls showing up, though since he’s never made a formal statement about his sexuality there are still plenty of the latter. At first Harry meets with them too, despite knowing that his soulmate is highly unlikely to be a girl, but after just a day of meeting people - not seeing most of them for more than a few minutes - he has a migraine bad enough that Liam has to physically help him into bed. 

Harry feels weird. Here he is, wanting to meet his soulmate, but also having to decide whether or not there’s any potential, just based on a five minute conversation. He feels every bit the shallow person he’s been painted in the press, and when he wakes up to a massive crowd outside of the castle the next morning, he wonders if perhaps he’s made a mistake.

Paul and Liam help him filter through the many people that are there. First they send away the girls, then they come up with a plan to filter out the ones with potential from the rest. Harry spends most of the following morning thinking up questions and debating what qualities his soulmate should have, and while he’s not a hundred percent satisfied with the checklist he ends up making, it’s better than nothing. 

He’s terrified that his soulmate will be less of what he wants and more of what he needs and that he’ll accidentally end up vetting him by accident, but he tries to have faith that things will work out, that he’ll meet his soulmate because they are meant to be together. It’s hard to _truly_ believe that when neither his mother nor his sister has met their soulmate, but he has to trust that it will be different for him. That just because he’s royalty doesn’t mean that he won’t get his happy ending. And besides, what else is Harry to do? Spend the rest of his life meeting everyone with a matching soulmark, giving them a chance only to end up getting his heart broken? Only to find out, after investing time in them, that they aren’t who he is meant to be with? 

Not for the first time, and not for the last, Harry wishes that he was just a normal boy. That he could meet his soulmate in uni, that there weren’t a hundred people every day claiming to be The One, that he could _date_ and he wouldn’t need to be married before he’s even got himself figured out.

*

When Harry is eighteen he wakes up to a stinging sensation on his ankle, and stares incredulously at his foot as a small screw slowly forms on his skin. It’s the strangest experience, watching these little inked lines come into being, forming first on one ankle, then on the other. He presses on the one that’s already done, but it doesn’t hurt, doesn’t look raised the way he always thought fresh tattoos do. It’s as though it’s always been there, as though it’s meant to be on his skin, and once the initial shock wears off Harry’s heart skips a beat. This must be another soulmark, though he’s never heard of soulmates getting more than one soulmark. But what other explanation is there? Perhaps his soulmate had woken up with them, or perhaps he’d had them tattooed, in which case - is Harry going to wake up with more tattoos? 

He’s always loved them on other people, loves them on Liam and had adored them on Landon, though he knows that his family (or the court) would throw a fit if he showed up covered in tattoos. It makes him wonder though. If he inked anything on his skin, would his soulmate have it too? Would this be a way to find him? Could he tattoo something on his skin that would give his soulmate a clue to who he was? 

As much as part of him wants to, he doesn’t tell anyone at first. He remembers what happened last time, thinks the only way to make sure no one finds out about his new soulmark is to carefully cover up his ankles even when he’s alone in his bedroom. But sometimes, at night, he stares at them, fingernail brushing the small lines, and can’t help but feel a renewed hope that he will find his soulmate after all. 

*

It’s a few weeks later that he caves and tells Liam, who advises him to tell Paul. He also advises him to tell the Queen, but Harry is reluctant to, knows that she’ll tell him not to tell anyone - and it still smarts, the way she hadn’t believed him when his first soulmark became public. He’s not stupid, he knows better, knows that anyone could run with the idea and get the screws tattooed, just to fool him into believing they’re the person Harry’s been waiting for. 

It does make it easier to figure out who _isn’t_ his soulmate though, and while it comes with renewed vitriol about him in the press, Harry at least gets time to himself again.

*

It’s not until he’s twenty and he hasn’t met with anyone in two years - no one actually having the screw tattoos that Harry had woken up with - that Harry starts to panic. It’s less than a year before he’s due to take the throne, before he’s meant to be _married_ , and while he knows that once he meets his soulmate it won’t matter how long they’ve been together before the wedding, he’s still anxious about running out of time. 

As it turns out, he’s right to be scared. Because soon enough his mum starts, however gently at first, hinting towards arranging a marriage. It makes sense, she says, and while Harry _knows_ that, the thought of spending his life with someone he doesn’t love makes his throat close up and makes him want to run away. Any resentment he might have had - buried deep inside his psyche - towards Gemma for abdicating fades when he realizes this is how she must have felt.

She feels guilty about it, he knows that much. Keeps giving him these looks, and Harry tries to be strong, he does, but there’s nights he cries into Liam’s shoulder because he’s only twenty and it isn’t fair that he doesn’t get more time.

Liam tells him that when he’s King he could try to change the laws, and that’s meant to be comforting, Harry knows, but all it does is make him feel worse. Because it makes him think of having kids, and how he could never walk away from his marriage and end up with his soulmate if he’s got kids with someone, and it’s just, a _lot_.

But Harry doesn’t run away, because he has a sense of duty and loyalty to his family, but most of all, because he loves his country. 

*

He loves his country enough that by the time he’s closer to his twenty first than his twentieth birthday, he agrees to meet with potential matches. His mother had asked him if he wouldn’t reconsider Landon, as Landon was still single and they had cared for one another, but Harry had told her that that wouldn’t be fair. He couldn’t string him along like that, and going from a real relationship to one of convenience would be too hard on the both of them. Besides, it’d feel like going backwards, and while Harry is by no means excited about getting married to someone that isn’t his soulmate, he has to believe that life will have good things in store for him. Maybe it won’t all work out the way it’s meant to - he’s sort of given up on the concept of fate in the past couple of years - but at least he’ll have good things to look forward to. 

So he meets with a handful of suitors. People of noble birth, of course, ones who have been raised with similar backgrounds and expectations to Harry. A duke, an earl, a marquess. Some are nice, some are boring, one of them takes one look at Harry and Harry immediately feels an unpleasant shiver running down his spine. He stays polite, meets with them, having tea in the same rose garden he’d met Landon in so many years ago. None of them come even close to stirring up the same feeling in him, but Harry knows that even if he longs for a spark, he’s better off focusing on finding someone with the same values, who will be a good asset to the Kingdom.

The last in a line of suitors is a Prince, from neighbouring Ireland. He’s the youngest of two siblings, so not the first in line for the throne, but a match between them would be great for both countries, uniting them in friendship and family. Harry knows the stakes, knows that there aren’t any more suitors, that he should be glad he could take his pick out of a handful to begin with. He’s hoping this one will be nice, that he was right to dismiss the others and won’t have to reconsider marrying someone he honestly can’t see himself with. 

He’s nervous, sitting in the garden, waiting for Prince Niall to join him. When the first thing he hears is a rowdy laugh, he stiffens, but when he sees Liam smiling, all crinkly eyed, as they turn a corner, the Prince’s hand amiably on his shoulder, he relaxes just a little bit. He still stands, rather stiffly, bows towards Niall because that’s the sort of thing you do to a Prince, Harry’s seen people do it to him often enough. It feels weird though, being the one to bow for a change, humbling in a strange way. He blushes a bit when Prince Niall just laughs. “Are we being formal then?” He asks, but it’s not meant to be cheeky, not meant to make Harry feel flustered, he can tell by the little twinkle in his eyes. He straightens up, wants to extend a hand but locks them behind his back instead.

“I’d rather not, if we don’t have to,” he admits, and Prince Niall’s smile goes from amused to soft in a matter of seconds. He just nods, to say he agrees, and when Harry gestures towards the table where tea has been set out for him, he glances at Liam.

“Would you feel more comfortable if Liam stayed?” He asks, and it’s not just the fact that he asks, it’s the fact that he turns to Liam afterwards and asks him the same question, doesn’t just dismiss him as a servant but actually takes his opinion into account, that makes Harry feel like maybe he was right to place his hopes on the last of his suitors.

Over the course of the next hour, Harry is proven right. Niall is smart, funny, cheeky in the best ways, and down to earth in a way that Harry rarely sees in noble families, let alone ones from the Royal Family. Usually it’s all very stiff upper lip and boring, but Niall has a face that’s made for smiling, and he does it easily and often. 

Harry knows Niall’s not his soulmate (his wrist doesn’t say NH after all, and Niall’s wrist says SM instead of HS), and that takes some of the pressure off. He doesn’t expect to fall in love with him, but he feels at ease around him, and when the conversation takes a serious turn and they talk about all they’d like to fix about their countries if they were in charge, Harry feels a bit of the weight drop from his heart. He can’t see himself falling in love, no, but he can see himself caring for him, can see him being someone he can share responsibilities with. And, equally important, he can see Niall caring for him too.

It helps that Liam likes him too. He’s much the same around Niall as he usually is around Harry, and that’s a definite good sign. Because Liam doesn’t let his guard down all that easy, and the way he treats Harry in public is different from the way he treats him when it’s just them in his bedroom late at night. He’s much more a servant in public, a true friend in private, but Harry can see glimpses of his true personality come through around Niall, and that settles it for him.

Is he thrilled about the prospect of marrying Niall? No. But it could be a lot worse. He tells himself that whenever the ball of anxiety in his stomach threatens to spread its black talons. 

All in all, they spend the majority of the afternoon together, more time than Harry’s spent with any of his previous suitors, enough time that even his mum comes in to check on them at some point. Niall practically shoots up out of his seat, bows for the Queen, and this time Harry’s the one to laugh and tease him: “Are we being formal then?” he shoots back towards him, and Niall’s laugh soothes not just his own worries but those from his mum as well. She gives him a small approving nod, then a wink, before leaving them again, the way she beckons Liam to follow anything but inconspicuous. Harry blushes, hopes that Niall has the decency not to comment on it, but of course he does. Or rather, he just raises an eyebrow, but there’s amusement in his eyes, and Harry doesn’t mind so much that he doesn’t just let it slide. Because he knows that there’s a conversation to be had, about what this means and if they are truly willing to see this through, and as much as he loves having Liam with him - sort of like a portable security blanket - he’s at an age where he can’t rely on his best friend for everything.

“So,” he starts, and Niall’s eyebrow raises just a little bit further. Harry glances down at his lap, at his wrist, his soulmark. He prays that whoever his soulmate is will forgive him, or come find him before time runs out - but he’s sort of given up on the latter, unfortunately. It’s an awful feeling, being stuck, but he tries to see the positive in it. If he has to be stuck with anyone, Niall’s a wonderful choice. “I know I’m not your first choice,” he says softly, referring to the initials on Niall’s wrist. Right away, he realizes he’s said something wrong, as the smile fades from Niall’s face for the first time. “Sorry.” He says, even more quietly. 

Niall shrugs, but it’s clear from the way he brushes his fingertips over his soulmark that it’s a sensitive subject. Harry bites his lip. “If it helps. I haven’t met them either. And I would never keep you from your soulmate, if you ended up meeting them. Even if we were married by then.” And God, he’s doing this all backwards. He hasn’t even asked Niall if he’s willing to marry him yet, he’s just assuming, being a pretentious twat. 

Niall doesn’t call him out on it though. He just gives him a resigned sort of smile. “You don’t have to worry about that,” he says softly. “I did meet them. Him. It just - wasn’t meant to be.”

Harry can’t help but frown at that, because that goes against everything soulmates are supposed to be about. How can it not be meant to be with the one person in the entire world that has been made for you? He bites his lip again, afraid to ask and stir up more past hurt, even if he’s practically vibrating in his seat with how badly he wants to know. 

It only takes Niall one look at him to realize that, and contrary to what Harry expected, it makes him smile a little. “You can ask,” he says quietly, uncharacteristically serious still, and Harry feels a weight in his stomach and a desire to make Niall happy - which is a good start, probably. 

“I don’t want to intrude,” Harry whispers, not sure why he’s whispering when it’s just the two of them. Sure, there are bodyguards, just out of eyesight but probably not out of earshot, but still. “It’s personal, I can tell.”

Niall shrugs again. “If we’re going to be married, there’s no point in keeping secrets.”

This whole conversation is weird, Harry quietly notes. They’re talking about their future without having properly discussed whether they even want said future, and Harry wonders if he should backtrack and ask him if that’s even what Niall wants, or if he’s forced into it, much the same way Harry is. He isn’t sure that won’t just make matters worse though, so he just stays quiet, only manages a nod.

“He’s not noble, like us.” Niall says softly, and there’s definite pain there still. “I didn’t reckon it’d be a problem, what with us being soulmates and all. But the law’s the law, and in our country Royals aren’t allowed to marry commoners. I would’ve given up my title, but he told me not to. Told me that the country needed me more than he did.” Harry can see Niall swallow, wants to reach out towards him but it feels like Niall’s only barely holding it together. “It took me a long time before I realized that didn’t mean he didn’t need me. By the time I stopped feeling sorry for myself and went to find him he’d pretty much dropped off the radar. Biggest regret of my life. But there’s nothing I can do about it, and what kind of a soulmate would I be if I didn’t respect his decision?” 

Harry has opinions about this, but he keeps them to himself. Wonders what it’d be like if his soulmate had been a commoner. He’d met with them, did that mean that his family wouldn’t care? Or would he end up in the same situation as Niall? He finds his heart ache for him, reaches out over the table, to rest his hand on Niall’s. 

“I’d like to make you happy,” he says, deciding to just speak from his heart, rather than worry about doing this all perfectly. He hasn’t managed to do anything right so far, but Niall’s still here, and even manages a small but sincere smile at his words. “I know that this, that it’s weird, and not what either of us would’ve wanted if we’d had the choice, but-” he shrugs, “Love can do much, but duty more, is kind of the motto around here.” He had hated those words, the first time he’d heard them, and even now he doesn’t like hearing them, let alone saying them. It just doesn’t mean they aren’t true.

“It is what it is, and…” he takes a deep breath. “I’ve met with a lot of people, but I couldn’t see myself marrying any of them. But you - you make me laugh, and you make me feel at ease, and like it’s okay to be myself. I know it’s too early to talk about love, but, you’re someone I can see myself caring for. Maybe not in a romantic way, maybe not ever, and if that’s something you want, then, no hard feelings if you say no. But if you say yes, I promise that I’ll try and make you happy, for the rest of our lives.” He ignores the heavy feeling in his stomach, the knowledge that with the words he’s saying he’s signing away any chance he has of finding his happily ever after with his soulmate. He’s not sure if it helps or not that Niall’s pretty much in the same boat. 

Niall, much like Harry had done, takes a deep breath. “I don’t want this to be like we’re signing some death warrant, Harry. Can I call you Harry?” Harry nods. “I know why I came here. I know what the plan was. And I don’t want either of us to be victims of circumstance. Because if we feel like that then we’ll end up taking it out on each other, and that’s not how I want to live my life. I don’t want to feel resentment towards you, or from you. I know that we might not ever love each other romantically, and that’s okay. Because I think, I _know_ , that we could be really good friends. And that’s, that’s enough. That, and having a chance to better the life of so many people - I prefer to live my life thinking of the possibilities. Not the things I lost.” He smiles a bit. “I’m not saying we should date, or force ourselves to feel something we don’t. But I’m saying that I think this marriage could do a lot of good, and not just for our countries. I think that happiness is going to be a given, with us. And that’s more than I expected, when I first walked in here.” 

Harry likes that. The way Niall looks at the world. The way he has so much faith in what good they could bring. “So?” he asks, and he’s surprised that he’s a little breathless. 

Niall grins, bright and beautiful, bringing a bit of a spark to Harry’s life, one that’s almost enough to make the dark ball of anxiety in his stomach shrink to the size of a marble. “So, you better start looking for a pretty ring, pretty boy.”

*

Over the next couple of months they don’t date, but they do hang out. They leave most of the wedding planning to other people, except for when they pick out tuxes and rings - which proves to be a fun afternoon, because there is some god awful traditional wedding garb to sort through. 

Fun. That’s what everything is, with Niall, and while Harry still wakes up gasping for air sometimes, having dreamt about his soulmate, his life could be a lot worse.

He’s not dreading his future as much anymore. There’s engagement parties coming up, then the wedding just a week before his 21st birthday, which is when he’ll ascend the throne, with Niall by his side. Even ruling the country doesn’t seem so scary anymore, because Niall is _smart_. He’s politically engaged, knows everything that Harry does and then so much more, and Harry is confident that there could be no better match for him when it comes to taking care of the citizens of his country. Maybe this is what his entire life had been leading up to, from the moment Gemma had abdicated the throne. Maybe if he hadn’t been the Crown Prince he’d have had a shot at love, but he has to admit, as upset as the thought still makes him sometimes, he’s almost relieved at the pressure being taken off. The press loves Niall, as Harry had known they would, and his life, though busy with all the preparations for the wedding, is almost peaceful.

*

There’s a ball, on Christmas Eve, an official engagement party slash unofficial Christmas celebration, and it’ll be Harry’s first introduction to a lot of people in Niall’s court. He’s been to Ireland once before, to officially ask for Niall’s hand in marriage, and he’s reasonably certain that the King and Queen like him, knows that Niall’s older brother does too. But he hasn’t met a lot of the nobles, and he’s a bit nervous when he heads over there. The fact that he’s got his own entourage calms him down a bit, but not as much as knowing Liam’s right by his side. As much as he doesn’t want to need it, he knows Liam will be whispering names and titles into his ear all night, just so Harry doesn’t make a fool of himself. 

Liam. Harry honestly doesn’t know where he’d be without him. Even now, he takes Harry’s moods as they come, always accepting even if he doesn’t always understand. Harry knows that he can’t though. Even though Liam hasn’t met his soulmate yet (a ZM, according to his wrist), there is no time limit on his life. He doesn’t need to find them before he turns twenty one, which is a good thing, because that time has come and gone for Liam for a few months now. He can just live his life, knowing he’ll find his soulmate when the time is right - though Harry knows he worries sometimes, that he never will. But life has a way of working out, and it was just Harry’s bad luck to be born into a Royal family which made meeting people a lot harder than it should’ve been. He can’t imagine Liam not meeting the love of his life. If anyone deserves it, it’s him. But whenever he tells him that, Liam gives him this concerned look and tries to stress just how much Harry deserves it too, and that’s not a conversation that Harry is eager to repeat. He doesn’t want to think of his life in terms of what went wrong. Niall was right, it was better to look at the possibilities.

When they finally travel to Ireland, on the 22nd of December, Harry has a knot in his stomach that he tries to tell himself is nerves due to finally meeting Niall’s extended family. He tries to tell himself it’s part excitement too, because he gets to see so much more of the country this time - the engagement ball being followed by a press round where they’ll be visiting different places. He tries to convince himself it’s anything but dread at his future closing in on him.

The dark thoughts are easier to keep at bay when Niall’s around him, and despite the fact that Harry still hasn’t developed any feelings for him - the thought of kissing him doesn’t make him cringe but it just makes him want to laugh with how awkward he imagines it to be - he does genuinely enjoy spending time with him. Niall balances out his sometimes morose moods, though Harry is careful not to show it in front of him too much. He doesn’t want to remind him of the boy he’d lost, because what Niall’s gone through is even worse than what Harry is going through. He’d met his soulmate and _lost_ him, because of stupid ancient laws. 

(He pointedly doesn’t consider the fact that it will be the same for him once he meets him, because there’s only a little more than a month to go until his wedding, and once he’s married, he’ll have no choice but to lose his soulmate.)

Niall makes him happy, and Harry is glad that he can say that and mean it. He’s glad that Gemma has started looking less like she’s carrying a weight around her neck, doesn’t just look at him with guilt in her eyes anymore. She likes Niall, as does everyone Harry’s introduced him to. Niall’s a bit of a chameleon, in a lot of ways, adapting to situations with an easy charm that Harry can only admire. He’s sincere in everything though. Open and honest without truly giving away too much of himself, and when there’s bad news in the press about him - which Harry can hardly imagine but which has apparently actually happened, and Harry just wants to talk to the reporters who wrote such things - he just shrugs it off and goes on with his life. Harry’s sort of aspiring to be Niall, when he grows up. He inspires him to do better, and to be kinder to himself. His future’s not nearly as bleak as he had once imagined it to be, because while there isn’t _romantic_ love, there’s enough love to keep him afloat.

He’s meeting Niall halfway today, which Harry had tried to protest at first because it made no sense for Niall to leave home only to return, but Niall had known how nervous Harry would be, arriving on his own, and he’d just shrugged and made arrangements despite Harry’s protests. He has to admit, it’s a very nice thought, not having to arrive at the castle on his own, and once he meets Niall, once they have a moment where it’s just the two of them (bodyguards delicately hovering just out of sight) there’s a part of Harry that feels like it’s just come home. It’s the oddest sensation, and when Niall gives him a quiet inquiring look, Harry shrugs sheepishly. “I sort of love you, you know?” He says, and he’s glad to mean it. 

Niall smiles, brings him in for a hug, dry chapped lips landing somewhere on Harry’s cheek. “I sort of love you too, you know.” He says teasingly, but then he pulls back, their eyes meeting. “Out of everyone, I’m glad it’s you. I’m not glad about the ball and the press round, mind, but I’m glad that you’re the one with me when we have to face all that shit.” He smiles as he says it, and Harry loves that smile, he honestly does. He likes how Niall’s seeing the positive side of things even when he’s serious. 

Harry giggles. “Are you calling our engagement shit, Niall Horan?”

“Oy. That’s _prince_ Niall Horan to you.” Niall retorts, and Harry just snorts. 

*

The ride back to the palace is fun, as Harry had no doubt it would be. Niall makes a ton of jokes to lighten the mood, and by the time they arrive, Harry’s sides are hurting from laughing so much, and his heart gives this little squeeze because Niall is so wonderful, he wishes he could give him the world. Or, really, that he could give him _Shawn_. But Harry is selfish, discards the thought as soon as it comes up because even if he found him Shawn, even if Shawn was willing to meet with Niall and they could work things out -- that would mean Harry has less than two months to find someone else to marry before he ascends the throne.

He feels a bit like an asshole about it, about being so selfish, but he tries telling himself that if things were really meant to be, they’d find a way of working out. All obvious signs point to that it won’t, but at least it will help him sleep at night. 

Not that he’s anywhere near going to bed. No. Instead he spends his day meeting some of the more important members of Niall’s family, ones that he’ll undoubtedly see at the ball but that couldn’t wait to be introduced. He’s on his best behaviour all day, genuinely wanting them to like him, even if Niall just snickers under his breath at half of the conversations Harry’s too polite to cut off. 

It’s a long day, and when he finally does head to bed - still having his own bedroom for the next month and a bit, and he’s not sure how he feels about having to give that particular pleasure up - he’s relieved to be alone. Well, alone with Liam, who stays with him, not really because he needs him but just because Niall’s a gem who knows that Harry might get lonely if he was in a different country, in a different palace, all on his own. 

He doesn’t have an awful lot of time to feel lonely, however, because he falls asleep almost as soon as his head touches the pillow.

*

Harry had expected to spend the 23rd much the same way he’d done the day before, meeting people and generally being lived, but his fiance once again proves to be an incredible man. Sure, there are fittings, but they’re in the morning, right after breakfast, and once that’s sorted Niall proclaims that they’re done for the day. There’s some looks but no one protests, and one of the maids actually helps Niall and Harry sneak out of the castle, just in case anyone does think of stopping them. It’s easy to see that people genuinely love Niall, and Harry feels a swell of pride that he gets to marry him. The longer they’re engaged, the longer he’s around him, the more he has tentative faith that this will work out. Will he ever fall in love with him? He doubts it. Niall’s just not doing it for him in that sense, and a part of Harry feels almost sad for being so shallow, but he can’t force something that’s not there. But he does genuinely care for him, and he thinks that being married to Niall can’t be all that bad when he always feels lighter around him.

They spend the day exploring, just two boys, dressed down in jeans and a sweater. Niall shows him the places he grew up, the things he loves most about his country. They don’t see a lot of people, but those who do recognize him never once make a fuss, and Harry loves that. It feels like he can just be Harry here, not feel all the expectations of being a Crown Prince that are placed upon him in his own country. 

He wonders if this is how Niall met Shawn. But he doesn’t want to ask, because that is one of the very few things that Harry has discovered will make Niall stop smiling. Not that he’s always this happy go lucky person, there’s definitely more substance to him than that, but he does approach everything with a positive attitude that Harry honestly aspires to be more like. But Shawn is a sore subject, and although Harry doesn’t like the prospect of having something they can never talk about (and he wonders if Shawn will always be between them, if his soulmate will one day be another of those topics they dance around and carry with them for the rest of their lives) he doesn’t want to do anything that will upset Niall. Especially when they’re having such a wonderful day.

They get some food from a grocery store, head out into the hills to eat it. It’s cold but it’s cozy, their backs pressed up against a tree as they sit side by side, eating freshly baked bread and trading cups of hot coffee. Harry feels the overwhelming urge to tell Niall thank you, but with a mouth full of bread and cheese he knocks his knee against Niall’s instead. Niall grins at him and knocks his own against Harry’s in return.

It’s nice, the point of contact, and they keep like that for a while, while they finish their lunch. His mouth finally empty - and his stomach blissfully full of bread, cheese and coffee - Harry smiles at him and finds the words bubbling up again. “Thank you,” he says, and Niall grins even more.

“This is just as much for me as it is for you, I reckon,” he says, and Harry smiles wider because he likes that Niall being selfish still makes Harry happy. “Promise me that once we’re married, we’re not going to turn into those people who are all set on tradition and proper etiquette. I mean, I get it. And it’s gonna be different, since you’ll be King and all, but, fuck. I just want to _live_ , y’know? Walk around, explore the place, meet people, and not have a bodyguard hovering near my ear every minute of the day.” 

Harry nods emphatically. He doesn’t know how often they’ll actually get a chance to do this but he wants to be a King of the people. He wants to stay in touch, know how they’re doing. It might not be realistic, and in part it may be because of the awful things that are written about him, giving him a need to make up for what people think of him, but he never wants to be locked in an Ivory tower. Never wants to take his privilege for granted and not give back. “We will,” he promises, and Niall’s responding smile is everything.

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, just enjoying their full stomach and the coziness of the moment. It soon proves to be too cold though, with Christmas Eve just a day away, and they reluctantly help each other up in order to make their way back. Niall points out these little things, places he’s been, things that are important to him and the community, and Harry honestly thinks that he could be happy. He knows it won’t be as easy as he makes it out to be, knows that he can’t just go and live here when he’s supposed to rule the United Kingdom, though the prospect of uniting every country on the British Isles with their marriage does make him feel excited. Sure, it isn’t the same as actually having Ireland be a part of the UK, but it’ll make relations a lot more easy, and Harry is excited for the prospect of improving the living standards of both their homes. 

They make it home just before dinner time, having spent the majority of their afternoon just wandering around. Niall had taken him into a pub for a drink, but despite their dressed down appearance someone had recognized them and it had turned into a bit of a situation. Harry had felt in over his head but Niall’s easy charm had saved the day, and they’d managed to slip out the back before they could attract too much of a crowd. 

All in all it’s been a great day, but part of Harry is still dreading the day to come. Not because of the engagement ball, but moreso because of the many relatives he’s meant to impress. At least, he thinks that’s what it is. All he knows is that he feels this weight in his stomach that hasn’t been there in a few months, ever since he met Niall, really. It makes it hard to sleep, though he tries to keep the tossing and turning to a minimum after Liam’s third sleepy “Harry?” 

Tomorrow’s just another day, he reminds himself. Another twenty four hours and whatever happens, happens. It’ll be over after the twenty four hours are up, and nothing ever really happens that’s important enough to make a lifelong impact. With that thought, he finally drifts off into an uneasy sleep.

*

The 24th starts off remarkably unremarkable. Harry wakes up with the same heavy knot in his stomach that he’d fallen asleep with, but over the course of the day nothing happens to really warrant that uneasiness. There’s a lot of people in the castle, but they’re all so busy, making preparations for tonight’s event. Harry finds that it’s easier to stay out of their way, so when he isn’t needed for final adjustments on his fancy suit, he holes himself up in Niall’s room together with Liam. They play videogames, and for a couple more hours Harry’s just _Harry_.

That bubble gets burst shortly before dinnertime when his mother arrives and asks to speak with him. Harry isn’t sure why she didn’t come up with him the other day, but he knows that she’s busy, that even though he’s been sitting in on meetings since he was thirteen he still has only barely started to grasp what it means to rule a country. He also has an inkling that she did it on purpose though, to give him more time alone with Niall.

One look at her - decked out in the finest jewels, all ready for the party where Harry is still wearing sweats and a ratty old t-shirt - and he knows that she’s right. She doesn’t frown at the way he’s dressed, just smiles at him and welcomes him into her arms for a hug, one that he gratefully accepts and it’s only when he’s wrapped up in her embrace that he realizes just how nervous he is. “Mum,” he whispers, and finds that he doesn’t really know what else to say.

“I know.” She answers, and Harry thinks that she can’t possibly, but then he also believes that she can. Because his mum had never met her soulmate, she’d been going through the same exact things Harry is going through now. That feeling of how his life was about to end before it’d even begun. It feels dramatic to even think it, especially since he is _so_ lucky to have found Niall, but there’s a part of Harry that still wonders if it’s too late to run away from all of his responsibilities. “You are so brave, my boy.” She adds, and Harry sort of wants to cry because he doesn’t feel all that brave. He just feels young, and unprepared, and like he never wants to leave the safety of his mum’s embrace.

Instead he just makes a soft sound and presses closer, knowing that there’ll be imprints of her fancy embroidery on his face, but for the moment finding that nothing is as scary as letting go of her. 

Eventually they do separate, but they take tea in the garden, in the lovely sunroom that had been built onto the castle for what seems like exactly this reason. Despite the servants hovering around it feels cozy and Harry feels like he can finally breathe again. Until his mum looks at him, and asks “Harry, are you _sure_?”

Harry frowns down at his tea. “I don’t have a choice,” he says quietly, and he can _feel_ Queen Anne wince beside him. 

“Harry-” she starts, but then pauses, sips from her tea instead. Harry swallows, his mouth feeling dry.

“I’m as sure as I’m ever going to be,” he says, and to his own relief he finds that he means it. “Is this the way I wanted things to work out? No. But it is what it is. Niall’s a _great_ guy. I’m happy when I’m with him. I feel confident, knowing that together we’ll do what’s right for our people.”

Anne nods. “That’s good,” she says softly, and she reaches out to gently brush her fingertips over his cheek. “I just want you to also do what’s right for you.”

Harry glances away, towards the garden. “I gave up on that dream when I became the Crown Prince.” It sounds sad, even to his own ears, but no matter how much he tries to, he can’t make himself wear a smile the way he’s done so often. He can’t pretend that there isn’t a part of him that’s still mad, sad, mourning, for what could and perhaps _should_ have been. 

“Harry-” Anne starts again, and Harry shakes his head.

“It’s done, mum. I can’t change anything about it now. It’s too late.”

*

By the time the ball is starting Harry feels like all that’s left of him is nerves, and he can barely stand even being touched. Liam’s helped him into his suit, not because Harry can’t get dressed on his own - though his hands are awfully shaky - but because it will steady him and because Harry knows Liam just wants to help. It’s sweet, but Harry still wants to push him away and hide into his room. The only reason he doesn’t is because he knows he has no choice. Or rather, he knows he is the one who made this choice. 

He wonders what would have happened if he’d been more selfish. If he’d chosen to abdicate the throne as well, ran away from all of his responsibilities. There’d be so many people who’d hate him, but ultimately, as long as whoever ascended the throne did a good job, he thinks it would be okay. But he doesn’t know if he could ever forgive himself for abandoning his responsibilities, and he’s not sure his soulmate could either.

Would he understand this though? This choice that Harry made, to forsake him for his country, his people? Would he ever even know? When they met - if they met - would they recognize each other? Harry isn’t sure how he feels about that prospect. Isn’t sure if it wouldn’t be easier to pretend that he hadn’t met the person who had been made especially for him. For his own sake, but especially for his soulmate. Because he deserved to have hope, at least, that one day things would fall into place and he’d have his happily ever after.

He’s bitter when he doesn’t want to be, but it’s hard, when just getting dressed in his outfit makes him feel cornered and scared, when he knows he doesn’t have anyone to blame but himself but at the same time he has everyone to blame. 

“Li?” It’s quiet, barely more than a whisper, but Liam only has to meet his eyes to see the anguish that Harry can hear so clearly in his own voice. He doesn’t say anything, just stops doing up the buttons on Harry’s coat. “Will you hold me for a minute?” He feels so vulnerable, asking for it, asking for more than a hug, because in all actuality he’s not sure he’ll be able to hold it together if Liam doesn’t wrap his arms around him and physically keep him from shattering. 

Liam complies without asking any question, without hesitation even. He just wraps his arms around Harry and for a moment Harry can pretend that everything is alright. 

The knock on the door makes him jump, and he takes a deep breath in order to swallow back tears. Liam just squeezes him a bit tighter for a moment, before letting go and heading towards the door. Harry’s not sure he’s ready, but he also knows that he doesn’t have a choice. So in the few seconds it takes Liam to cross the room, he steels himself, putting on the figurative mask that he’d learned to wear whenever he had to be Prince Harry Edward Desmond Styles, rather than just Harry. He takes a deep breath, knows his smile might not be the most genuine, but it’s a start. 

What happens next is something completely unexpected. 

Liam opens the door and the first thing they both see is a giant bouquet of flowers. The boy wrestling with said bouquet of flowers looks relieved when he sees Liam, but that relief is short lived, and for a moment Harry doesn’t understand why the boy’s face has dropped, until he hears him breathe out a shaky “You.”

Liam looks as confused as Harry feels, but then his face changes, jaw dropping, and he repeats it back at him. “ _You_.”

Liam takes the flowers, almost absently hands them to Harry, who would ordinarily be looking for a card, but at the moment he’s too busy watching the odd exchange near the door. The boy - dark haired, with artfully tousled hair and pretty full lips - wavers for a moment, extends a hand then. “Zayn,” he says softly. “Zayn Malik.”

Even from here, Harry can see the soulmark on his skin, though there’s plenty of tattoos surrounding it. It’s still there, clear as day. The LP decorating his skin. “Liam,” Liam replies just as quietly. “Payne. Liam Payne. You’re-”

“My soulmate,” Zayn finishes quietly, and for a moment, both of them just stare at each other, awed. 

Harry’s never been around for a soulmates’ first meeting before, but as much as part of him wants to scream, or at least cry (because he wondered if he’d know, when he met his soulmate, but he didn’t think the universe would be this obvious about giving him an answer), there’s thankfully still a part of him that feels joy. Because if anyone deserves this, deserves a happy ending, it’s Liam.

He still buries his face in the flowers (nearly nicking his eye on the card, that turns out to be from Niall, telling him _for all the things life is taking away from you, I promise to give you even more in return_ ) to keep either of them from seeing that he’s about to cry. 

There’s so much he wants to ask Liam. Like how did he instinctively know it was Zayn, even before seeing his soulmark? How did it _feel_ to have met him. Was it like a literal _zing_ going through him? Was he drawn to him the way Harry had always hoped he would be? 

How did it feel, knowing he was going to spend the rest of his life with him? Spend the rest of his life _in love_ with him. 

But there’s no time for questions right now, because the party is due to start any minute, and Harry knows that the next knock on the door won’t be _his_ soulmate finally making an appearance. It will be Niall instead, and while that notion fills him with dread, he knows he has no choice but to shoulder this burden and focus on the good things. Life will go on, after all, and Harry has a kingdom to rule.

First, however, he has about a hundred people to meet. 

*

Harry’s only about an hour into the party and already his head is spinning with the amount of information that his brain is trying to hold onto. Liam, who both of them had fully expected to be whispering names and titles into his ear has turned out to be absolutely useless, because he is still distracted by Zayn, who he’s supposed to meet up with after the ball. _Unless,_ Liam had asked, and Harry had firmly shaken his head before Liam had even been able to fully phrase the question. Liam deserves his own happiness, it doesn’t matter if Harry will go to bed alone for once in his life. He does miss him now though, even when he’s right there. Misses the way he would diffuse the tension, if only in Harry’s body, just by whispering into Harry’s ear. There’s something comforting about the sound of his voice, and now, presented with nobles that neither of them know, Liam’s gone shy, far more quiet than he usually is. So it’s left up to Harry to make a good impression, and he’s not sure how good of a job he’s doing, even if everybody is pleasant to his face.

Niall, lovely, sweet, perfect Niall, is the one who finally pulls him aside. “C’mon,” he says softly, gesturing towards a nearby corridor. “You need a break. Take a left at the end, then the second hallway, door at the left in the middle.”

Harry frowns, but can’t really make his mouth work beyond “Are you not coming with me?”

Niall shakes his head in response. “Nah. I’ll hold down the fort here. You can join me whenever you’re ready, yeah?” 

Harry feels his heart warm even as his cheeks do too, and part of him wonders if he should protest, just out of a sense of duty, but he’s too grateful for the chance to slip away (relatively unnoticed) to give that much thought. Besides, the look on Niall’s face makes it clear that he’s made up his mind, and there’s no point in protesting.

So Harry goes, follows the instructions Niall had given him, something in his chest easing with every step he takes away from the hustle and bustle of the party. The glasses are only clinking faintly in the background now, voices drifting down the halls growing softer and softer with every step, until finally he closes a door behind him and hears _nothing_.

It’s cold, because Niall’s directions have led him straight outside, but Harry feels flushed and he appreciates the chill that’s enveloping his skin. More than anything, he appreciates the silence, though it’s overtaken by the sweetest sounds - the faraway call of an owl, the satisfying crunch of gravel underneath his feet. The way leaves rustle, maybe due to little animals, maybe just due to the wind. There’s all these scents too, and Harry lets himself be wrapped in the sweet smell of roses, and _breathes_.

It’s not enough, still, he needs something more solid to ground him, to help him stay tethered to reality, so he gives into instinct and lays his body down on the gravel, not caring if his clothes get dirty or debris gets stuck in his curls. He just lies down and stares up at the sky, watching clouds pass in front of stars and wondering if that’s some sort of metaphor for life or if he’s just sort of losing the plot a little. He watches the stars and he smells the roses and he hears _life_ , and he focuses on that until it almost feels like those sensations are a part of him.

As such, he’s jerked back into reality when there’s a shadow blocking his view of the stars, a genuine but slightly incredulous “Are you alright there, mate?” that’s followed by footsteps crunching onto the gravel. Harry shifts his head, glad for the jacket that he’s put under his head, even if it makes his chest sort of hurt with how cold it is. 

“Jesus,” he huffs out, is about to push himself up into a sitting position when he can see feet from his peripheral vision. “You scared the shit out of me,” he mutters, but the laugh that earns him is drowned out by the sudden rushing in his ears.

Because right there, on the boy’s ankles, are the same small screws Harry has watched appear on his own skin, all those years ago now.

The boy’s ‘sorry’ is lost in the fog, and Harry finally sits up now, swallows because it feels too good to be true, too amazing to finally be happening after all this time but -- “What’s your name?”

He doesn’t look up yet, but he can _hear_ the frown in his voice. “Louis.” Toes scuff at the gravel. “Honestly, you’re sort of worrying me, mate.”

 _Louis_. Harry wants to wrap himself around that name, wants to bathe in that voice. He wants time to stop and to spend eternity in this moment even though he’s freezing and there’s bits of gravel poking him in uncomfortable places. “Your last name, it starts with a T, doesn’t it?” He’s not really guessing. There’s this rush of warmth that has set up shop in his body the moment he saw those screws, and he wonders if that’s what Liam and Zayn had felt. 

The feet in front of him shift, almost uncomfortably, but then the boy crouches down and Harry suddenly regrets not getting up earlier, because even in the dark of the night his eyes are a beautiful, almost radiant blue. Those blue eyes scan his face for a moment, drop down to his left wrist, where Harry’s shirt isn’t quite covering the initials possibly marking this boy as his soulmate.

“Horton?” It sounds incredulous, and Harry blinks. 

“What?”

The boy laughs, and Harry would roll his eyes and think anyone is overreacting if they said their soulmate laughing was the sweetest sound they’d ever heard but in this case it just might be true. “I had to call you something.”

“Yes, but _Horton_?” Harry can’t help but snort, the implication that his soulmate has talked about him enough to give him a name not lost on him. It’s making him feel even warmer inside. 

“Alright Hubert.” The boy is just teasing now, but he’s shifting again, and Harry really doesn’t want him to get up, so he offers him his wrapped up jacket to sit on. “Thanks.”

Harry smiles. “It’s Harry,” he says softly, and Louis’ (blue blue blue) eyes look at him and soften.

“Thanks Harold.” 

“You’re welcome, Lewis.” He’s probably not as witty as Louis is, but it still makes him chuckle, and for a moment, Harry feels caught up in a slice of paradise.

They sit in silence for a moment, Louis absently picking at the embroidery on Harry’s coat, and Harry would usually worry that it’s going to come loose and that he’s going to look disheveled in front of the many people he’s yet to meet tonight, but he can’t really worry about anything right now, because this is his soulmate, and all he feels is _calm_.

That is, until Louis asks him, “So, what are you doing here?” 

Harry can’t help it, his face drops, and he casts a look at the palace, wondering if it’s too late to run away and pretend to be someone else. “Um,” he starts, very eloquently, and for a moment he wonders if he can just leave it at that. “Just, um, you know, the engagement.” He manages, and Louis nods.

“Me too. Big event, yeah? My best mate Zayn, he owns a flower shop. Roped me into helping, despite the fact that it’s my birthday. Said it was a big opportunity and all.” Louis explains, and his face softens into a smile, something that takes away the sharp angles and replaces them with something so beautiful Harry can barely keep himself from staring. “Reckon he was right, what with both of us finding our soulmates tonight.” He runs breathless around the word soulmate, suddenly looks at Harry as though he’s just fully realized that that’s what they are. “Fuck. You’re my _soulmate_.”

There’s something about hearing it said out loud. Harry’s heart trips in his chest, and he’s so thankful for the fact that he’s sitting down, because there’s a rush of longing - of _be_ longing - that has him dizzy. Yet the moment he meets Louis’ eyes he’s fine, and this is _crazy_. This is everything he’d wanted for so long now. 

But.

“I am.” He says quietly, and all the elation feels like it’s just draining out of him. “And it is. A big event.” He swallows, glances down at the coat Louis is sitting on. “The engagement, I mean, not just us meeting. Though that’s big too.” He plays with a pebble that’s been somewhat digging into his knee, feeling the smooth surface with his fingertips, but it isn’t enough to tether him right now. “It’s, um, _my_ engagement.”

The reaction is both delayed and instantaneous. For a moment, Louis just sits there, expression one of incomprehension, but then that clears off his face and he instantly snaps to attention, scrambling up and nearly slipping on the fancy coat as he attempts to make a bow. “I’m so sorry!” It sounds almost panicked, and Harry wants to cry, would give anything to have him smiling and relaxed again, _teasing_ him. “I didn’t recognize you, Your Highness, I’m so very sorry.” Louis apologizes, and bows again, and everything about it just feels _wrong_.

“Please,” Harry tries, shifting to stand up, though that just makes Louis stay in this half curtsy, and he wants nothing more than to reach out and pull him up but he’s not at that stage yet where he can just take liberties. “It’s just Harry. ‘M not - please don’t call me _Your Highness_.”

“I-” Louis cuts himself off from what Harry is certain is another apology, and he finds himself reaching for him after all, giving Louis ample opportunity to move away if he doesn’t feel comfortable. Louis does, and Harry stays where he is, even when it feels like his heart is crying out. Is telling him that it isn’t meant to be like this. That they’re meant to be holding each other. Already. And always.

“Louis. Please.” He whispers, barely giving sound to the words, too scared to break whatever fragile trust there is still left, worried that if he presses for too much it’ll actually send Louis running. “Yes, I’m a prince. But I’m also just _Harry_. You’ve wanted to get to know me for years. I _know_ you have, because I’ve wanted to get to know you too.” He couldn’t be too far off base with that, could he? Louis couldn’t be indifferent to him, to finally meeting his soulmate. 

Harry chances a look at Louis, but his face betrays nothing, and icy cold fear trickles down Harry’s spine. Maybe he _doesn’t_ care. He’s about to admit defeat - despite everything in him _screaming_ not to - when he can see it. The slight twitch of Louis’ jaw. The way he ever so slightly glances away from him, like he’s afraid to reveal the truth in his eyes. 

“I’m right here,” he pleads with him. “Louis. Give me tonight. Let me know you.”

Louis still stands like he’s poised for flight, but his shoulders sag a bit at Harry’s words, or perhaps just at the pleading tone in it. It’s a tone that Harry would usually fight to hold back but that he’s now consciously letting seep into every word. He can’t do anything except be open, and fight for this happiness that’s been promised to him since he was ten. The same happiness Louis seems reluctant to accept. Harry wishes he knew _why_.

“How can I?” Louis whispers, and suddenly all Harry wants to do is cover his mouth with his hand, keep him from saying anything else, because Louis sounds emotional now, sounds _sad_ , and Harry never wants him to be sad. He also doesn’t want Louis to make him sad, and he knows that he will even before he continues. “You’re _engaged_. And not to just anyone. To my country’s Prince.” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry interjects, and Louis looks up at him at that, gaze almost sharp before it softens and he glances away, shaking his head.

“How can it not? This marriage, it’s all anyone’s been talking about for weeks. Months.” Louis is the one to take a step towards him then, and Harry lets him, even when part of him tells him to move away, out of reach, so he can’t be hurt. He thinks Louis could be on the opposite end of the world and still hurt him though. “It can do so much good. For your country. For mine. Prince Niall, he has great ideas. With the backing of your marriage - it could change lives.” He smiles, sadly. “I can’t ask you to give that up for me.”

Harry shakes his head. “You’re not. I’m offering. You’re my soulmate. I’m yours, I’m _fated_ to be yours. I’m sorry it took me so long to find you, I _am_ , but you can’t expect me to give you up now.” Niall would be alright. The country would be alright. “Louis, _please_. We belong together. I’m yours.”

He watches Louis’ jaw twitch again, reaches out for it this time despite himself, only to have Louis brusquely push his hand away. “I’m not yours.” He says, and despite the quiet voice he uses the silence the words leave behind is deafening. “I don’t want you to be mine. I don’t want _this_.”

This. Harry, the Crown Prince, or just Harry in general? Harry is almost too afraid to ask. Too afraid to get an answer that will break his heart, even when it’s already shattering into pieces in his chest. “Louis-”

Louis takes a step back. “I want you to marry Niall. I need you to forget this night ever happened. As far as I’m concerned, my soulmate doesn’t exist.” Harry would almost believe him if it weren’t for the pure agony that’s etched onto Louis’ face, and Harry finds something inside of him getting angry, and wild. Desperate.

“Stop being so noble,” He manages, hands clenching into fists at his sides, because he has to do something that isn’t grabbing a hold of Louis’ lapels and shaking him. “We can figure this out. We can - we can make it work. You don’t have to give me up for the greater good. You don’t have to give me up at all.”

Louis almost scoffs at being called noble, and Harry thinks that was a rather ironic choice of words, but then he watches his face soften, and maybe Louis isn’t immune to Harry’s pleading after all. “But I do, darling,” the way he says it, it could sound harsh or sarcastic, but instead his accent wraps around the word _darling_ like a caress, and Harry honestly might cry, because it makes it so incredibly clear that Louis is trying to do the right thing. “What’s your family’s motto? _Love can do much, but duty more_ , isn’t that it? I need you to do _more_ , Harry.”

It’s the first time Louis has said his name, and Harry can only think of how it might well be the last time, because already he can see Louis biting his lip, as though he is fighting to hold back another _Your Highness_. He doesn’t get to bask in it, doesn’t get to feel that thrill that should come with meeting your soulmate, because Louis’ reason is legitimate, and Harry can’t do him the discourtesy of ignoring that. It doesn’t help a damn to keep his heart from breaking though, in fact, it’s only made worse by the knowledge that Louis’ own heart might be crumbling just as rapidly as Harry’s is. 

“I’m sorry,” is what he says in response to Louis’ words, because what else can he say when nothing he has said has been enough to convince Louis? He understands him, knows that there’s truth to his words, that there’s things their marriage can bring to the country that couldn’t happen if they were just friends, and he _hates_ it. He hates that this is what his life is all about, trading in his personal happiness for the greater good. 

“Me too,” Louis says quietly, and Harry nods. He feels .. deflated. Numb. Like nothing in the world is ever going to bring him happiness again. Because now that he’s met his soulmate, there’s no more _hope_. He won’t get his happy ending. And what’s worse, he’s cheated the most beautiful man in the world out of it. Sure, Louis could find someone else to be with, Harry’s sure there aren’t a lack of suitors lined up for him, but he’ll never have that wonderful feeling of knowing it was meant to be. 

Suddenly, he wants to find Niall. Because Niall knows, Niall’s gone through practically the same thing, and Harry could really do with a cuddle. He’d find Liam, but Liam’s on cloud nine right now, and the last thing Harry wants to do is rob him of his happiness too. “I should-” he says quietly, and Louis nods, stiffly. Harry thinks he can hear him say a vague _‘yeah’_ but he’s already turned away from him, picking up the coat he’d left on the ground, dusting it off and having some half formed thought about how Louis had sat on it, and how that was the only more or less tangible memory he has of him. He slips it on, wishing that there was some warmth lingering in it, but of course it’s just cold, from being on the gravel. It probably suits him fine though, all things considered. 

He heads inside, hopes to avoid running into too many people - the last thing he wants right now is to play Prince Harry, betrothed to Prince Niall, celebrating one of the happiest days of his life - while he searches out Niall. 

(He’d duck out, return to his room, but he knows better than that, has been drilled on etiquette for most of his formative years. Skipping out on his own engagement party wouldn’t be enough to cause a crisis, but it would most definitely be frowned upon, and Harry’s at that point where he thinks he might genuinely cry if someone so much as looks at him in disapproval.)

Niall’s easy to find, but unfortunately, it’s because he’s the focal point of a group of people, and making his way towards him proves difficult enough, let alone managing to pull him away from his family and friends. So, he resigns himself to a few more hours of politics and dull conversation, straightens his back and pastes on his best fake smile. He’s going to play the part, it’s all he can do, _and_ , he thinks cynically, probably all he’ll ever do again.

*

He doesn’t get a moment alone with Niall until the ball has all but ended, the number of socialites and nobility having slowly dwindled for the past hour or so, until finally it’s just Harry, Gemma, their mum, and Niall’s family. Harry’s face hurts from pretending to smile for so long, and he wonders if anyone’s noticed the large, gaping black hole in his chest. From the looks Gemma shoots him every so often, he thinks she might have, but the one time she’d come up to him and tried to tug him away from conversation he had gently pulled away, given her a tiny shake of his head because he _couldn’t_ , not if there were still duties to fulfill. He’s avoided her studious gaze ever since, focusing on Liam, who is positively _beaming_ , who would be floating if it was at all humanly possible. At least one good thing has come out of tonight, and Harry can’t help but wonder how their relationship will progress. Will Liam move to Ireland, to be with Zayn? Will he divide his time between England and Ireland, as Harry and Niall plan to do?

The thought of losing his best friend on top of everything else is almost too much to bear, and his hand trembles in Niall’s when reality sinks in. Niall glances at him, and for once Harry is viciously grateful for the way Niall has gotten to know him over the course of the past few weeks. He’s also incredibly thankful for the easy charm Niall has, that lets him say their goodbyes to both families that are still present, before taking Harry out of the ballroom and steering him towards Harry’s bedroom.

It isn’t until he’s sat Harry down on the bed, walking back to close the door, that he speaks up, and even then it’s only a very gentle “Harry?”

Harry looks up at him, wonders if Niall’s chosen this moment on purpose, when he’s got his back towards him and Harry has the chance to school his features. He glances away, feels tears pricking in his eyes, knowing that it’s futile, trying to hold them back. He’s about to tell him _everything_ \- feeling like the dam is literally about to break and he can’t possibly hold back any longer, the emotions so intense they’re causing a painful burning in his throat - when the door opens, and Liam peeks in. 

Harry can physically feel the shutters coming down, and he forces back everything in favor of smiling at Liam, swallowing down the hurt and guilt and angst, knowing it isn’t right but also knowing that he can’t do this to Liam right now. Besides, in a stupid and almost masochistic kind of way, he sort of wants to keep Louis to himself for just a little bit longer. “I’m just tired,” he says quietly, looking up at Niall, whose face makes it more than clear that he’s not believing a word Harry’s saying. “Overwhelmed. Today was a lot. It’s kind of scary, in a way, that my future’s all planned out.”

Liam’s chosen to let himself in, doing all the things he does before he retires for the night - which, since Harry hasn’t undressed himself yet, is currently only putting out his pajamas and hovering in a none too subtle way, clearly also having picked up on the fact that Harry’s not quite himself. Niall frowns, perhaps at Liam lingering, perhaps at Harry’s words, and he sits next to him on the bed, so he can be close without forcing Harry to maintain eye contact. Harry appreciates it enough that he rests his hand on Niall’s knee. “Are you having second thoughts?” Niall asks, and his hand comes to rest on Harry’s.

 _‘Yes’_ , Harry wants to say. “No,” is what he says. 

Niall doesn’t look convinced, and Harry shakes his head, as though that’ll add some weight to his feeble words. “This is the right decision.” It’s the _only_ decision, really, but he doesn’t say that. He isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince Niall or himself, but he can hear Louis’ words in his head, about how this is what’s right for the country, and if the only thing he can do to make his soulmate happy is to marry Niall, then he will marry Niall, and stop feeling sorry for himself.

Well. Maybe he’ll feel just a little sorry for himself, for a little while. Not too long though, because tomorrow’s Christmas, and no one should cry on Christmas. 

*

Niall stays for a bit, until it’s so obvious that Liam is _dying_ to talk to Harry that he makes up some lame excuse to leave that Harry can’t keep himself from smiling at. It’s the only smile he can manage, even when Liam sits down next to him, practically vibrating. Harry wants to force himself to smile but his muscles are tired, and his best friend deserves better than to have him pretend. “So,” he says quietly, “Zayn, huh?”

Liam’s eyes literally gloss over for a second, and Harry feels something warm inside his chest, feels a tiny flicker that brings some light to the dark gaping hole where his heart used to be. (He’s dramatic, sue him). “Tell me about him,” he gently encourages him, and Liam, to his credit, looks conflicted for a moment. 

He bites his lip, and Harry gives him a look, but it only makes Liam give him a look back. It’s one so full of sass that it looks almost comical on Liam’s face, but he only sighs, resigned. “Not now, okay?” He says softly, and Liam nods. 

“Soon, though.” He insists, and Harry nods. Soon was good. Soon would give him just enough time to rebuild some of his walls, to keep it from being _so_ obvious that he was absolutely heartbroken. He knows he’s going to need it, especially since Zayn - Liam’s _soulmate_ Zayn - just happens to be best mates with _his_ soulmate. He wonders how easy it’s going to be to avoid him. He supposes it won’t matter, once he’s married. 

“Soon,” he echoes, then nudges him, gentle. “So. Zayn. Tell me everything.”

*

They talk until the early hours of the morning, something Harry only regrets when he’s woken up at eight a.m. by his sister, who is practically breaking down his door and crawling onto his bed for a cuddle. Harry is twenty, soon to be twenty one, and Gemma has just turned twenty four, but Harry doesn’t think there’s ever going to be a point in his life where he outgrows the need for a cuddle from his big sister. She lays on top of the sheets, curling up at his side, and for a minute or two she just looks at him. Harry knows she’s waiting for him to cave, and he promises himself he won’t, not this time, but it’s only so long that he can take her stare. He doesn’t look at her though, keeps his eyes trained on the ceiling instead. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Gemma says, and Harry both loves and hates the concerned tone of her voice. “I’m not going to ask you what’s wrong,” she says, and Harry feels relieved for about a millisecond before she continues. “But I’m just going to throw some guesses out here, and you can tell me if I’m close.” He parts his lips, not even sure if it’s worth the effort to argue, but before he can make up his mind she taps his cheek with her fingertip. “Don’t argue.” It’s soft. “I think you need this. I think you need to let it out, but you’re doing that thing again, that you always used to do. Thinking that if you don’t say the words, it isn’t real.” 

Harry feels chastised, chances a sheepish glance at his sister, but she just looks gentle. Determined, too, and Harry can’t help but feel like she would’ve made a wonderful Queen, no matter what she thought. He wonders if she regrets it. Letting fear lead the way. 

He manages a tired nod. Liam’s still asleep, or pretending to be, Harry isn’t sure, but he knows that the moment Gemma starts asking questions he’s not going to be able to hold back. And maybe Niall should be here for this, maybe he should get all of it over with in one go, but in the light of day, Harry isn’t so sure he even wants to tell him. It’s only going to make Niall feel bad, especially after what he’d gone through with Shawn. “Okay,” he whispers, and Gemma echoes it with a soft _‘okay’_ of her own.

“You’re having second thoughts about marrying Niall,” she guesses, and Harry bites his lip. It’s not necessarily true, but it’s not necessarily untrue either. He gives her a feeble sort of shrug, and she sucks in air through her teeth. “Something happened, last night,” she pauses for a moment. “That’s not a guess. I know it did. You were fine when you went outside, stressed about the party, sure, but nothing like _this._ You came back looking like you’d seen a ghost. It was pretty obvious. Liam even forewent meeting up with his soulmate because of it.”

Harry winces, tears filling his eyes, and he’s honestly not sure if it’s because he’s managed to hurt Liam without being aware of it or because Gemma said the word soulmate, threw it out so casually when that word has started to mean something different since last night. He shifts onto his side, wishes he could curl up against her the way he did when he was little. When he thought she was big and strong and mature enough to make all the bad things in his life go away. Instead he curls his hands in the duvet and resists the urge to pull it even tighter around him, as though that’ll keep him from being laid bare at her words. 

Gemma shifts, just enough to card her fingers through his hair. “Did someone say something to you?” She wonders, and Harry shakes his head, careful not to dislodge her fingers. “Did you-” she pauses, and for a moment Harry just listens to her breathing, tries to sync his own with hers. He’s just about managed to when she gasps. “No.” She says, and it’s small, _hurt_ , and Harry knows, knows she’s going to say it, knows she’s going to destroy all those walls he’s been so painstakingly building up. “You met your soulmate.” It isn’t a question, and Harry isn’t sure if he isn’t grateful for that, because he doesn’t think he’s going to be able to answer her. He just lets out a soft sob instead. 

It spurs her into action, and she wraps her arms around him, and Harry isn’t surprised to feel the bed dipping behind him, Liam’s arms circling around him too. It makes him feel like the sad interior of a very warm and comforting sandwich. He’s shielded, from both sides, and suddenly, he doesn’t want to hold back anymore. Suddenly, he cries.

It’s Christmas morning, and Harry cries like he’s never done in his life before.

*

They’re meant to show up for brunch at eleven, and Harry sort of panics at the thought, half because he isn’t sure he’s ready to face anyone, half because he knows he looks like he’s been crying. His eyes are bloodshot and while nothing can be done about that, Gemma helps him look presentable by at least taking care of the red puffy bags underneath his eyes. As long as no one looks too closely, they won’t know that he’s just cried the hardest he’s ever done in his life.

Of course, the moment he sets foot inside of the dining hall, his mother comes up to him. She tilts his chin up with a gentle hand, is about to brush her thumb over his cheek when Harry just shakes his head. She sighs, but presses a kiss to his cheek instead, whispers a “I’m so proud of you, my brave boy,” that’s just for him. Harry tries to smile, but he wonders how brave she’d think he was if she knew that part of him wanted to run away, run towards his soulmate, no matter the consequences. But he knows that it’ll just cause everyone more hurt, and that Louis won’t welcome him with open arms, and what’s the _point_? If he’s just going to make everyone miserable and he won’t even get his happy ending, why should he even try? And maybe that’s the coward’s way out, or maybe in some strange way it _is_ brave, but Harry doesn’t think the absence of a choice has anything to do with bravery at all. 

He manages to avoid Niall’s eyes throughout breakfast, engages in pleasant conversation with the Queen and King, with Niall’s brother, with his own family. He doesn’t freeze Niall out of the conversation, he’d never be _that_ rude, but even when he speaks directly to him he makes sure never to fully make eye contact. He knows Niall’s going to pick up on it - he’s not just smart, he’s also insightful to a point where it sometimes can be a little bit frightening - but he’s also sure that the moment he meets his eyes he’s not going to be able to keep things a secret any more.

Sure enough, the moment breakfast’s over, Niall excuses the both of them, winks at his mum and tells him that _the happy couple would quite like a moment to themselves_ , and promptly steers him towards the rose garden.

The very same rose garden that Harry got his heart broken in last night. Harry wonders if there’s any point in digging his heels into the carpet and refusing to go.

In the light of day, the garden is still beautiful. Majestic. It’s also very perfect, not a pebble out of place, and Harry feels wrong, standing here like nothing has happened, like his life hadn’t forever changed here, and he hates that it isn’t visible somehow. 

“Talk to me,” Niall urges gently, and Harry swallows. He thinks it might be easier if they walk, but he can’t make his limbs move, can only fall down into the beautiful wooden bench that’s tucked away underneath a wonderful smelling rose arch. Niall arches an eyebrow, but follows suit, sitting down close enough to offer Harry comfort but far enough away so that he doesn’t crowd him. The notion alone almost makes Harry cry again.

“I met him.” He wasn’t even sure how he was going to say it, but it feels like there’s nothing else he can say, like his heart is aching so badly that it’s speaking directly through his mouth. “I met my soulmate. And he-” he swallows again, glances down at his lap, at his engagement ring that sparkles in the soft light. “He doesn’t want me.” 

“Wha-” Niall shifts closer, and part of Harry wants to get up and run, wants to not do this right now. Maybe not ever. “What are you talking about? How can he-” but then he stops himself, and Harry glances at him from the corners of his eye. “Oh.” 

Yeah. Oh. Because of course Niall understands. It’s clear as day, the pain etched onto his face, the memory of how Shawn had broken his heart. Harry sniffs. “I didn’t want to tell you.” He whispers. “You’ve gone through it once, you shouldn’t have to drag it all back up again.” While that sounds noble, it’s not the whole truth. He doesn’t want Niall mad at Louis either. Doesn’t want anyone to tell him that his soulmate’s a dick, because he’s lovely and selfless and Harry admires him as much as he hates what he did. 

Niall sighs softly, his hand on Harry’s shoulder comforting in the way he brushes it gently across his skin. “You shouldn’t have to feel like you have to hold that kind of thing back from me,” he says, and it sounds almost a little petulant. “I’m a grown boy, Harry. I’ve owned up to my mistakes, I’ve learned to live with my regrets. Reminding me hurts, yeah, but not telling me, knowing that I’m aiding my fiancé in his suffering.. That’s not how I want to go about this.”

“You’re not,” Harry says, but he doesn’t know how true that is. Especially when there’s a part of him that wants to wallow in this, that wants to be utterly selfish for once in his life and _breathe_ this hurt, before he has to pretend that everything’s fine. “I’ll be fine.” That, to no surprise, is an utter lie, and Niall doesn’t even dignify it with a response. 

“What are you going to do?” He says softly, and Harry looks up at him.

“What do you mean, what am I going to do? I’m going to marry you, just like we talked about. We’re going to unite our countries in more than just friendship, and we’re going to do good, just like they want. Like you said - what kind of a soulmate would I be if I didn’t respect his decision?” Harry watches as Niall’s face darkens at being confronted with his own words, and Niall’s hand on his shoulder tightens. 

“But what if it’s a stupid decision?” Niall asks, and his usual cheerful voice is replaced by something more serious, darker in timbre. “How can I respect it, when he’s _wrong_?” He meets Harry’s gaze. “They both are. It’s been _years_ since I’ve met Shawn and part of my heart is still with him. You want me to believe that the same doesn’t go for him? That he doesn’t still think of me?” He shakes his head. “I refuse to believe that. And I refuse to believe that we couldn’t have made it work. Some way. Even if the law forbids us from marrying and he didn’t want me to abdicate.” 

He takes a breath, shifts, to grab hold of Harry’s shoulders and meet his eyes. The expression in Niall’s is fierce, allowing no room for argument. “But those rules, that held me and Shawn back, they don’t apply to you, Harry. Your country doesn’t have the same laws about marrying commoners. There’s no reason you can’t go and find him and be happy.” His eyes soften, and he manages a smile that’s a little sad, but still so hauntingly sincere. “You deserve it. You deserve happiness.”

There’s a part of his heart that’s practically singing at those words, butterflies unfolding their wings in his stomach, but Harry refuses to give into it. He vaguely remembers begging Louis not to be so noble, but now that he’s faced with much of the same choice, he can’t help himself. Noblesse oblige, after all. He has a duty to his Kingdom. “What about all the good we can do for our countries?” Louis hadn’t been wrong about all of that. He can’t just walk away from his responsibilities, even if Niall’s encouragement makes him want to, makes him wish it were really that simple. “What about everything we planned to do? They need us to be married, they’re counting on us.” 

Niall just smiles, and his hand on Harry’s shoulder tightens in a way that’s reassuring, even when Harry isn’t sure why. “I think I might have an idea.”

*

On Boxing Day, Harry requests an audience with the King and Queen of Ireland. He dresses up in his finest attire, hides his trembling hands behind his back when he’s invited into their throne room, everything so formal that his mouth feels dry until he sees the Queen’s warm expression, her eyes so similar to Niall’s. 

“Hi,” he manages, and it’s almost breathless. King Robert just nods, but Queen Maura gets up from her throne, extends a hand towards him. Harry isn’t sure whether to kiss it or not, but instead she helps him up towards a third chair, pats his knee in a motherly fashion when he sits down. Harry manages a weak smile, needs a few deep breaths to anchor himself. “I need to talk to you about the wedding. I don’t think I can marry Niall.”

King Robert’s eyebrows migrate to somewhere near his hairline, and Harry takes another steadying breath, decides to speak before either of them can get angry and throw him out for being disrespectful towards the Royal Family. “I met my soulmate, during the ball on Christmas Eve. And he’s told me that what’s most important is that I marry Niall, because of the good it can do for our countries.” He swallows. “I was going to go ahead with it, but Niall…” He looks up at the King and Queen, at Niall’s _parents_. Surely they must understand. He holds their gaze, until Queen Maura gives an almost imperceptible nod. Harry thinks he can detect a hint of sadness around her mouth.

“I’ve talked about this with Niall. And with my mum, Queen Anne. Together, we came to a possible resolution?” He realizes he sounds like he’s asking, not telling, and clears his throat, tries to muster up the same conviction that Niall had had when they’d talked about this to Harry’s mother. “This offer, if you choose to accept it, will be signed into law at the earliest convenience.” He manages not to stumble over the words, finds his footing the more he continues, strengthened by the knowledge that they remember how much Niall had been hurting, and the fact that his own family is supportive of him. “I want to offer kinship. An official ruling, as I said, signed into law by both our countries; that we are now, and will forever be, bound together, not just in friendship but in kinship. We will be family, and with that all those benefits that would come from uniting through our marriage will be guaranteed.” He finishes. 

There’s silence, for a moment, the kind that’s so deafening it almost aches. Harry has a million more things he wants to say, but he’s determined not to be the first one to speak. Niall’s told him it’s the best way to get his parents to take him seriously. Let his words stand for themselves, and not try to convince them. He resists the urge to fidget, just meets their gazes when they look from each other towards him. 

“And in return, we won’t require you to marry our son?” King Robert asks. “Or is there something else you would ask of us in return for your promise of kinship?” Despite his stern appearance, Harry thinks he can detect sort of a twinkle in his eye. He’s not sure if it’s respect or something else. 

Harry is silent for a moment. This isn’t something he talked about with Niall, or his mother, but now that he’s here, there’s no way he can pass up the opportunity. He’s not sure they will go for it, but it doesn’t hurt to ask, hopefully. 

“Change your laws,” he urges, and when he meets Queen Maura’s eyes he thinks she understands what he’s asking. And _why_. Her gentle expression gives him the courage to continue. “Make it so the Royal Family is allowed to marry someone that’s not of Noble birth, without having to give up their Title.”

“That’s it?” King Robert asks, “That’s all you want? Just this?” 

Harry nods, feels so close to achieving everything he’s ever wanted that he’s almost overwhelmed with it. He wants to be strong, and confident, but all he can do is look up at the King and Queen, his expression pleading and his voice wobbling a bit. “Everyone should be able to marry their soulmate.”

*

They’ll consider it, he says, and that’s all that Harry gets. He leaves the throne room feeling full of this jittery energy but having no outlet for it, wanting to fight for something he isn’t sure isn’t already within his grasp. Instead Niall takes him horseback riding, and while it is one of the things Harry enjoys most in his entire life (despite sometimes being clumsy with his two feet on the ground, he’s actually an excellent rider) not even the December wind whipping around his face is enough to clear his mind. It still helps though. Being with Niall always does. And for a moment, here and there, he wonders if this is really the right course of action. If he would really be _that_ unhappy, marrying someone who isn’t his soulmate. He knows it’s just fear talking though, knows that he’s just scared to get his hopes up, even if Niall’s parents hadn’t immediately dismissed him.

This limbo he’s stuck in lasts for a day and a half, but finally, on the eve of the 27th, Niall knocks on his door - interrupting Liam’s third retelling of his first date with Zayn. All it takes is one look and Harry jumps off his bed, feeling nerves creep up high in his throat, making it hard to breathe. “Now?” He asks, and Niall just nods.

“Now,” is all he says, but their hands speak volumes when they find one another, fingers trembling when they tangle during the short (seemingly infinite) walk to the throne room. Neither of them says anything, not even when Queen Anne joins them, though her hand on his shoulder is just as laden as the feeling in Harry’s stomach. He wonders what will happen if they say no, if he will be forced to marry Niall after all. He knows they can’t technically do that, but still. There’s no plan B. If they don’t accept the offer Harry’s given them, what choice does he have? 

It needs to work out. It _needs_ to.

While all Harry wants to do is to hide away in his mother’s arms for a cuddle, he only takes a deep breath before stepping inside the room, feeling slightly more at ease when he finds a table in the middle of the room, chairs around it in a much more intimate setting than when he’d gone in on Boxing Day. He gives the King and Queen a polite nod, glad that he isn’t made to curtsy, since he’s not sure his knees wouldn’t give out if he tried right now. Even Niall is on edge, he can tell, because he doesn’t greet his parents with a hug, just stays by Harry’s side, hovering the way Harry’s so used to Liam doing. 

Liam. Harry would give anything to be back in his room, listening to a fourth (and consecutive fifth) retelling of his first date. Instead he holds out chairs for both Queens, before sitting down in his own seat, hiding his shaking hands in his lap. He tries desperately to hold onto the happiness that Liam had been exuding, the same happiness that Harry hadn’t been able to keep from dreaming about, once darkness had overtaken the castle and privatized his thoughts. 

There have been so many obstacles, ever since Harry has first received his soulmark, and there’ll be many more to come, he’s sure, but for the first time, he allows himself to hope. He allows himself to have _faith_ , that maybe everything that had happened had played out this way for a reason, maybe he was always meant to come here and get engaged to Niall, even if he wasn’t meant to marry him. 

“We have considered your proposal,” King Robert starts, once they’re all seated, and though he addresses the entire table, tone formal, he keeps a friendly eye contact with Harry. “Specifically, your counter request.” Harry feels Niall’s eyes turning towards him, curious, can see from his peripheral vision that Queen Anne’s eyes are a bit wide, undoubtedly wondering what he’d brought up that he hadn’t told her about. He fidgets in his seat, but doesn’t break eye contact with Niall’s father. It feels almost like a test, somehow. “We have talked about it, with our advisors. It’s not a simple matter.” 

Harry bites his lip. Crosses his fingers under the table. Tries desperately not to think of what it would mean if they rejected the entire proposal based on the one request he’d had. He wonders if he’ll regret it, if they say no. But he doesn’t think he can. Niall might have been right, but Harry wasn’t the _only_ one who deserved a happy ending. 

“We have let our advisors draft up an official bill.” There’s papers being passed around, but Harry’s too scared to look away, just keeps looking at King Robert, barely daring to breathe. “In short, all the terms and conditions should be what we’ve agreed to. If you find you’re in agreement with the bill, we will require a signature from all of you, and then we’ll send it off to be introduced into parliament. We’ve been assured that it won’t be too difficult to get the necessary support. After all, this is what’s right for the country.” His voice softens, and he rests a hand on Niall’s shoulder. Niall, who’s been reading the paper, who must have just reached the part where it says he’s going to be allowed to marry Shawn if the incredulous look on his face is any indication. “And the country loves Niall.” He pauses. “As do we.” His eyes finally leave Harry’s, and Harry’s pretty sure the entire table is staring at Niall when his father shifts, going from King to simply _dad_. “I’m sorry, son, that it took someone from another country to come in and spur us into action.”

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen Niall lost for words before. But he certainly seems to be now, his eyes filling with tears, motionless until he suddenly scrambles up out of his seat and all but knocks Harry’s over in an attempt to hug him. His arms around him are firm, but his voice is shaky, quiet, as he whispers into Harry’s ear. “You did this, for me?”

Harry holds him back just as tightly. “You deserve happiness,” he whispers, and Niall lets out this soft choked sound that Harry takes to mean _thank you_.

*

Even though Harry has pretty much achieved all he wanted, things don’t immediately fall into place. It’s still hard. The law will take a while to pass, and Harry doesn’t have the luxury of waiting, not when his twenty first birthday is less than two months away and he still has to be married in order to ascend the throne. He knows who he wants to marry, for the first time in his life, but he’s not sure Louis shares the sentiment, and anyway, he’s not even sure how he’s going to find him.

That is, until Liam sits him down, all but pinning him down with a look, and reminds him who _his_ soulmate is. It still takes Harry an embarrassingly long moment to connect the dots, but when he does, he’s not sure if he feels more nervous or excited. It’s a healthy mix of both, swirling in his stomach, making him feel sort of nauseous. 

“Look,” Liam says, and his eyes soften and his hand on Harry’s knee is so appreciated when Harry feels like he’s going to faint even though he’s sitting down on his bed. They’re celebrating New Years at Niall’s place before heading back to England to begin the final preparations for the coronation, so they’ve still got a few days left until they’re headed home. “I shouldn’t be telling you this, but, Zayn might’ve mentioned the fact that Louis might’ve talked about you, once or twice.” 

Once or twice isn’t a lot, but Harry will take it. “He did?” He’s terrified, of what it means, of what Louis might have said, but he’s also infinitely relieved that his soulmate has apparently not managed to shut out all thoughts of him. He sort of wishes that he would’ve been able to though, if only because Louis doesn’t know what they’ve been trying to accomplish, and he is probably feeling heartbroken and upset the way Harry was until Niall reminded him that just because things are a certain way that it doesn’t mean they have to stay that way. “Is he - does he know?”

Liam shakes his head. “I didn’t think it was my place to tell. And besides, I didn’t think it was fair to give him false hope, in case things might not work out.” He bites his lip, as though he’s unsure it was the right idea or not, but Harry thinks that for as much as he would’ve wanted Louis to know there was a chance (maybe), he wouldn’t have wished the uncertainty of the past few days on him. “I didn’t even tell Zayn.”

(Harry sort of loves the way his voice goes soft when he says his name)

“What if he doesn’t want to talk to me?” Harry whispers, and he wasn’t aware of just how deeply rooted that fear was until he can feel tears sting in his eyes at the thought. “What if he’s disappointed in me, or he doesn’t want me, and this was just an excuse to not have to be near me? What if he thinks I’m hideous and he wouldn’t want to be with me regardless?”

“Harry.” It’s patient, and fond, and just a little bit like Liam thinks Harry is an idiot, and okay, Harry will be the first to admit that his reasons are probably not that legitimate, but he can’t help but worry. He’s running out of time, and what boy would want to get married to someone he’d only known for a month? “He’s your soulmate.”

“But-”

“He’s your _soulmate_ ,” Liam emphasizes softly, and Harry isn’t sure why he wants to cry right now. “He’s going to love you.”

“But what if he-”

Liam squeezes his shoulder. “He’d love you even if you weren’t his soulmate, Harry. Because you’re a good person. You’re willing to put the country’s needs ahead of your own. You were willing to let your soulmate walk away. And in all those years of knowing you, I’ve never once thought of you as a hideous person. You’re _good_ , Harry, and Louis would be an idiot not to want to be with you.” Liam smiles, leans in conspiratorially. “And from what Zayn says, Louis is anything but an idiot. He’s fierce and determined and whip smart, and yes, stubborn, but underneath all that, he’s got a big heart and I bet he’s just waiting for you to come and find him and show him that it doesn’t have to be a choice between duty and love.”

Harry takes a deep breath, but even the oxygen isn’t enough to dispel the faint dizzy feeling that comes with the thought of finding Louis, of _loving_ Louis. “Help me?” He asks, and he must look pathetic, because Liam doesn’t even laugh at him or tease him. He just nods, wraps Harry up in a big hug, and while that wasn’t exactly what Harry was asking for it’s apparently exactly what he needs.

*

Despite Liam and Zayn’s best attempts at convincing Louis, he doesn’t seem keen on seeing Harry. He’d flat out refused to let Harry come to his house - which, Harry can understand, a Prince suddenly showing up on your doorstep might just cause a little stir. But he’s also refused to come to the Palace, and while Harry knows that Liam’s right and that _he_ should be the one to tell Louis that there’s nothing standing in their way (besides Louis himself), he’s not sure how he’s going to convince Louis to come when he thinks there’s nothing to talk about. 

“I could summon him,” Niall offers, on the morning of the 30th. “He’d have to show up.” 

(Harry blames the fact that he’s barely slept since he’d met his soulmate for not immediately discarding that as a terrible idea.)

“Maybe I should just tell him,” he sighs, toying with his phone. “Call him, hope he picks up.” Zayn had, reluctantly, given Harry Louis’ number, but he’d also pretty much begged Harry not to call unless he had run out of ideas, and Harry’s only 79.1 percent sure that he’s at that point. “I’m not sure that won’t just make him more upset though.”

“We could host a New Years party, ask Zayn to take care of the floral arrangements. I’m sure he’d ask Lou for help.” Gemma suggests, and Harry tries not to feel annoyed at the fact that she’s calling him Lou when they haven’t even met yet. 

Liam shakes his head. “I asked, but he’s swamped with work. And besides, he said there’s no way Louis would fall for that trick.”

Harry feels a pang of hurt at that. He really hasn’t been a great friend. Liam must be going through so much, knowing that although he’d found his soulmate, he was living in another country. Had they talked about it? Was Zayn going to give up his job? Was _Liam_?

“Maybe I’ll just text him,” he says, for what feels like the third time in as many days. It’s been met with gentle discouragement his first few attempts, but this time, aside from a soft sigh from Gemma, no one responds. Harry’s hands suddenly feel sweaty. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

Besides his soulmate simply refusing to ever talk to him again. Besides him being pissed at Zayn and blocking both their numbers, or worse, changing his own, leaving Harry with no way to ever contact him again. “He could leak your number to the press,” Liam says, ever practical, and Harry just about scowls.

“He wouldn’t,” he says, and Liam nods, like he’s wary of arguing with Harry right now. “I know he wouldn’t. He’s my soulmate.”

“That doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re a good person,” Gemma interjects, but she shakes her head when Harry glares at her. “It doesn’t. I’m not saying that I think Louis is a bad person, because I don’t think Liam’s soulmate would be best friends with him if he was. But, he’s a bit of a wanker in my book, for hurting my baby brother.”

Niall nods at that, like he agrees, and Harry’s throat feels tight. Maybe Louis _is_ a bit of a wanker, but maybe he’s just scared of getting hurt, of getting thrown back into something he’d tried very hard to forget about. Harry can’t exactly blame him for that, even if it would be so nice to have _someone_ to blame for this achy feeling inside of him.

“I have to _try_ ,” he says weakly, resisting the urge to wipe his hands on his jeans. He doesn’t say that he misses him, because it feels weird to even think it. How can he miss someone he’d barely met? But it’s how it feels. This void that had been him for all these years had been filled for just a few minutes or so, and when it was emptied out again it felt more hollow than ever. He tightens his hand around his phone. “I have to try.”

*

On the morning of the 30th, at 11:28, Harry texts Louis.

_Hey, it’s Harry. I know you’ve been asked to come see me before and you’ve said no, but I really need to talk to you. Please. Even if it’s just five minutes. I promise, after that, if you want me to, I’ll never contact you again._

It’s a gamble, promising him this, but what other choice does he have? He’s going to have to convince him, some way or another. It still makes his fingers tremble when he presses send, and he feels like there’s something heavy in the back of his throat, making it hard to breathe and harder even to swallow. 

It’s 11:28am. What do normal people do at 11:28 on a Monday? Louis could be at work. God, Harry doesn’t even know what job he has. He wants to learn though. He wants to learn everything about him, wants Louis to learn everything about him too. They’re soulmates for a reason; underneath it all, Harry is sure that they’re not that different. Strip away the title and what is left but an insecure boy, hoping that his soulmate will give him a chance. 

Whether Louis really is at work or just likes to make Harry sweat, Harry doesn’t know, but he doesn’t keep his eyes off of his phone for the next hour and a half until _finally_ it chimes with a reply. He’d be embarrassed about the way he scrambles onto the bed to reach it, but really, his stomach has been in knots the entire time and regardless of Louis’ answer, he’s at least managed some direct contact. _Please let it not be the last_ , Harry thinks, as his sweaty fingers make it so he has to try twice to unlock his phone.

 _You’re not going to give up, are you?_ Is what the text starts with, and Harry sort of winces as he reads it because he should, shouldn’t he? Isn’t he supposed to respect his soulmate’s wishes? Even if Niall was right and it’s a stupid wish. _Fine. Five minutes. I don’t know what on Earth you could tell me that would make any difference, but I’ll come to the palace._

As much as the words hurt Harry, he tries to think about the fact that they must be hurting Louis just as much, if not more. He sounds frosty, in his text, and Harry’s heart goes out to him.

_Come by whenever you want. I can send a driver to pick you up._

His poor tired heart is almost too numb to skip a beat, but not for lack of trying. Louis’ reply - swift this time - almost makes him smile, because somehow he’d expected nothing less.

_I’ll take the bus._

Harry types out _I don’t care how you get here, just get here if you can_ , but presses delete until all that’s left is a blank screen and a blinking cursor. Best not to push for too much too soon. For now, all that matters is that there’s a chance. Sometime today - hopefully - he’s going to see his soulmate again. Now all he has to do is find the right words, the words that will make him stay.

*

To his surprise, Louis shows up no more than an hour after his text, and Harry feels simultaneously hopeful and terrified when Niall informs him that he’s arrived at the castle. He hopes Louis didn’t take time off of work, wonders if he should’ve been more patient, and all the while his hands are sweating and he keeps wiping them on his jeans. He is slow to walk to the rose garden - Harry and Niall had both agreed the place was fitting, seeing as it was where they first met - his legs feeling like they could give out any second. _This is it,_ his beating heart tells him, _this is the moment_. Harry finds himself wishing he had more time, to prepare, to figure out the right words, the right _way_ , so that Louis will have no choice but to give in to what fate demanded of them.

Not that he really wants Louis to only be with him because of fate. The concept of soulmates is a difficult one, because although Harry sort of likes the idea of having someone that’s perfectly matched with him, he doesn’t like the thought of being with someone just because the universe says so. He wants them, eventually, to love one another for who they are, to have the kind of relationship where they would choose each other even if they weren’t soulmates. 

But it’s a start, at least, it’s a reason for them to _try_ , and Harry needs that right now. A reason to force himself outside, to submit to Louis’ scrutiny, maybe even his aloof attitude.

But when Harry walks outside and actually sees Louis, aloof is the last word he would use to describe him. He looks tired, and sort of sad, and most of all, _soft_. There’s no attitude, no cool or indifferent look in his eyes. He looks sort of mistrustful, yes, but also hopeful, and Harry sort of wants to wrap him up in his arms. 

Instead, he comes to a halt in front of him, clasps his hands behind his back, and manages to choke out a quiet “Hi.”

Louis seems to deflate at the tone of his voice, and Harry watches him as he bites his lip. “Hello,” he says, and even his voice is soft. He reaches up a hand to brush through his fringe, and Harry wants more than anything to take that hand, establish some contact because right now he can see that he hasn’t been the only one nearly coming apart at the thought of (never) seeing each other again. 

“Thank you for coming,” Harry says, because he knows what he has to say but he doesn’t know where to start. He’s used to this though. Being polite. It’s been drilled into him from an early age. It’s just as important, if not more, for royalty to be polite as it is for the rest of the country. But he’s not just being polite. He’s actually really quite grateful. 

Louis just nods, gives this little shrug that somehow tells Harry more than if he’d used actual words. 

“I’m not marrying Niall.” He doesn’t mean to blurt it out just like that, but he can’t hold it back, knowing that Louis only promised him five minutes. To change his mind, earn his love. The way Louis’ eyes widen in response is satisfying, Harry can’t lie. 

“Wh-” he starts, and Harry shakes his head. Chances a step forward.

“Please. Let me explain. I know what you said. About the good it can do for the country. I heard you, okay? And you’re right.” His mouth suddenly feels incredibly dry, and Harry can’t look away from Louis, even if his words are making his eyes even more expressive. “You’re absolutely right, and it’s important, my job is important, but it’s my _job_. It’s not - I refuse to let it be my whole life.” 

He takes a deep breath, another step closer. “I’ve talked to Niall. And to the King and Queen. We all want what’s best for our countries. But there are other ways. It doesn’t have to involve losing out on love.” 

Louis has gone from looking wary, to plain tired, to intrigued yet careful. Harry takes a final step towards him, reaches out to take his hands. Louis lets him. “I want it to be you. I don’t want to spend my life wondering _what if_. I know that it might not be easy, but, Louis, it’s going to be _worth it_. I have to believe that it is. I have to believe that the fact that I met you before I could get married to Niall means something. Means that there is another way, a way in which we can all be happy.” He squeezes his hands, grateful that Louis hasn’t let go despite the fact that they’re sweaty. 

“I made a promise. I’m going to keep that promise. Our countries will be united. But not through marriage. Through kinship instead. We’ve talked it all over, and there was an official bill drafted that all of us had to sign. Some of it will be introduced in parliament to be signed into law, because when we brought up the possibility of an alliance through kinship they asked me what I wanted in return. I told them that Niall should be able to marry his soulmate, despite him not being of noble birth. So hopefully they’ll change the law and Niall will be able to marry the person he truly loves.” Harry glances down at him, braves a small smile. “Just like I will be able to, hopefully.”

Louis looks teary eyed, or maybe that’s just Harry, unable to see clearly through his own tears. All he knows is that Louis hasn’t pulled away, that he’s actually gone from letting Harry hold his hands to actively holding onto Harry’s too. “But,” he starts, and Harry had been so eager to hear his voice right up until it sounds like he’s about to argue with him. He holds back from interrupting though, even when he wants to make it abundantly clear that he can’t change what has happened, if he’d even want to. He gives Louis’ hands a squeeze instead, and Louis sighs softly. “Don’t you have to be married though? In order to take the throne?”

Oh. Harry bites his lip. “Um.” He starts, feels his cheeks heating up because it’s not that he didn’t know this was going to happen, it’s just, he didn’t know Louis was going to catch on that soon. “Yeah.”

Louis meets his eyes, and he looks even softer now, cheeks a bit pink and his fringe falling almost into his eyes. “So..?” 

“We don’t have to.” Harry says quickly. “I mean. If you’re not ready. I mean. Of course you’re not ready. We’ve had, what, all of ten minutes together? It’d be insane expecting you to say yes. We haven’t even gone out on a date yet. There’s not, I wouldn’t be expecting you to-”

Louis is smiling now, a little bit, just the one corner of his mouth tugging up. “You’re adorable when you ramble,” he whispers, and Harry promptly goes a little pink. 

“Right.” He says, because he has to say _something_ , and half of him is stuck on how he can’t _actually_ tell Louis that it’s okay if he doesn’t want to get married yet, because his birthday is in just over a month and he really has no choice but to be married if he wants to ascend the throne. But asking Louis to marry him when they hardly know each other is ridiculous, soulmates or not. “Is that, I know it’s not ideal, far from, actually, but. Is that something - could you see yourself - with me, I mean-” 

Louis’ smile grows a bit bigger, and he shifts, leaning up just a little bit to press a kiss to Harry’s jaw. “It’s not very practical,” he muses, and Harry bites his lip to interrupt. He’s not sure what he would say, actually, because Louis is right. It isn’t practical. It’s unfortunately his reality though. “I mean. I have a job. A life here. We hardly know each other. The idea of soulmates is, I mean. There’s the romantic side of me that loves it, but then, just because you’re my soulmate doesn’t mean that things are just magically going to work out.” 

Harry nods, and when Louis stays quiet he’s about to reassure him - again - that none of this soulmate business means that they _have_ to get married (even though he’s basically screwed himself over because he’s not going to make Niall marry him when Niall gets the chance to actually be with his soulmate) when Louis shrugs a shoulder. “But,” he says, and this time Harry feels relief at hearing that word, rather than dread. “All practical concerns aside, this news is a lot better than what I expected to hear. I mean, I woke up this morning thinking the same thing I’ve been thinking for the past couple of days. That apparently it’s just not going to happen for me. And I’ve tried _really_ hard to come to terms with it, which is why I’ve refused to come and see you because I knew that the moment I would, I’d just.. Want to argue about it all. Refuse to acknowledge that this is how it’s gotta be. So.. I mean. Now that there’s a chance, I’d be kind of an idiot not to at least try, wouldn’t I?”

Harry’s fingers feel a little numb, right up until Louis gives his hands a soft squeeze, alerts him to the fact that he’s been holding onto him so tightly that their fingers have gone white. His first instinct is to let go, but Louis doesn’t let him, just coaxes him into tangling their fingers a little bit more gently. “Zayn said you were anything but an idiot,” Harry manages, even when his voice won’t go beyond a whisper.

“High praise, coming from Zayn,” Louis notes dryly, and Harry can’t help but chuckle. “Can’t make a liar out of my best mate, now can I?”

Harry swallows, his mouth feeling dry. “So, you will - what does that mean?” He has his hopes up, sky high, but he needs to hear it. Needs to know that he’s not tricking himself into believing he can have something he can’t. Something he’s been told all his life he will never have, but never gave up on in spite of that. 

“It means, maybe we can go on a date. See how we get on. Do something fun.” Louis gives him an appraising look, but he’s smiling, makes it look cheeky rather than condescending. “What do you do for fun, Your Highness?” He teases, and all Harry can think is that one of these days he’s going to hopefully get to kiss him before he can call him that. 

Since Harry can’t exactly take Louis out somewhere public, and - assuming Louis will end up agreeing to marry him - the chances of Louis getting to experience the things that Harry is used to doing (either for fun, or because he has to) are pretty high, Harry figures that it’s only fair to let Louis pick where they’ll go for their date. Honestly, he’s so over the moon at the idea that he even _gets_ a first date that he’d happily watch paint dry for six and a half hours, as long as it means he gets to spend time with him. 

He doesn’t expect anything big, would be happy just getting a coffee somewhere, but he’s pleasantly surprised when Louis looks at him and grins. “I’m assuming this castle has a kitchen? How about we bake some cookies?”

Harry _loves_ baking, and he wonders if Louis knows that, but when he looks at him, Louis’ face doesn’t betray much of anything. “Baking?” Harry asks, and Louis just shrugs, but he looks pleased with himself.

“I mean, I know you’ve probably got staff to do everything for you, but, I like a man who can sweep me off my feet, and cookies are a _great_ way to achieve just that.” He explains, and Harry is so grateful for their cook who let him sneak into the kitchen when he was little and who taught him how to make his favorite cookies. Among other things. He used to love spending time there, when he was young enough that his responsibilities hadn’t taken over. The fact that Louis doesn’t take advantage of the fact that Harry is a Prince, but wants them to do something together makes his heart flutter. 

“I love baking.” He says simply, and Louis smiles.

*

Harry intends to sneak Louis into the castle, but of course, they’ve barely rounded the corner when they’re presented with two equally guilty looking faces. Gemma, albeit clearly just as guilty of eavesdropping as the two men with her, carries herself with the same grace she always does, but when Harry makes a face at her she gives him a wink in response. He feels a warmth settle comfortably in his chest, knowing that she had been keeping an eye on him, because he knows it’s not just her satisfying her own curiosity. It’s also looking out for him, and judging by the way she smiles, her opinion of Louis is headed in the right direction.

Next to him, Louis has frozen into this sort of awkward bow, studiously avoiding eye contact with Niall, who has to work hard at keeping his face in check. “Hi,” Niall says, reaching out for him and gently coaxing him into standing upright. “So you’re the man that stole my fiance, huh?”

For a moment, Louis looks horrified, but then Niall grins, nudges him. “Relax. As fond as I am of him, I can’t deny that there’s a part of me that feels relieved. And just, happy. He’s a good guy.”

Harry feels almost sorry for Louis, who still looks awkward, clearly torn between acting the way he would with just anyone and the knowledge that this _isn’t_ just anyone, it’s Prince Niall. He reaches out, brushes his thumb over the inside of Louis’ wrist, almost giddy when he can feel him relax a little at the touch. “It’s nice to meet you,” Louis finally manages, and Niall’s easy smile tells Harry that he wasn’t the only one who caught onto the fact that Louis had to swallow back the following _Your Highness_. 

“It’s nice to meet you too.” Niall says, and Harry feels another rush of fondness, knowing that Niall means it. That for him it doesn’t matter that he’s noble and Louis is not. They’re just two boys, barely into their twenties, who might have more in common than first glance would suggest. “I’m Niall. Which you probably know.”

Louis relaxes a bit more, a handsome grin appearing on his face. “I’m Louis. Which _you_ probably know.” 

Gemma steps forward at that, and Harry meets Liam’s eyes, can tell that he’s practically vibrating out of his skin, even though he’s hovering a few steps back. He lets the others have their introductions first, and Harry can’t help but wonder what Zayn had told Louis about Liam. He can hardly believe that they’ve gotten this lucky, that their soulmates are best friends. 

“I’m Gemma. Harry’s older sister. The one you have to impress,” she teases, extending a hand towards Louis, though she pulls it back just a smidge when he doesn’t seem too sure on whether to shake or kiss it. “Please don’t kiss my hand. You’ll make me feel like my grandmother. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair, would it, having you kiss me before you kiss Harry.”

Clearly, Gemma hadn’t just been looking out for him. She’d also been waiting for a chance to embarrass him. Luckily, Harry isn’t the only one blushing.

“Anyway,” he interrupts, resisting the urge to grab onto Louis’ elbow and steer him past the people in the corridor. “You’ve met Gemma and Niall. This here is Liam,” he holds back the _I’m sure you’ve heard of him_ because now that he’s been teased by his former fiancé as well as his sibling he doesn’t want Liam to be on the receiving side of a (however friendly) ribbing. He knows they all mean well, that it’s a way of breaking the ice and making Louis see that they’re just like other people, but it still makes him feel a little flustered. 

Louis smiles at Liam, and Harry doesn’t even need to ask. It’s clear Zayn has been gushing. “Hello mate.”

There’s a familiarity in the way they hug that makes Harry feel all warm inside, because isn’t this the dream? His soulmate getting along with arguably his best friend? He wonders if Zayn will take to him, has a moment where he daydreams about going on double dates, but he quickly shakes himself out of it. It’ll be a lot easier for Liam and Zayn to date (not accounting for the distance between their countries) than it will ever be for Louis and Harry.

He turns to Niall, leaving Louis and Liam to speak in hushed tones - Harry wouldn’t be surprised if there was a bit of mutual threatening going on, the _if you hurt my friend_ spiel that Harry can’t even be upset about. From their tone and body language though, everything is in good spirits. So he grins at Niall. “Now that I’ve ever so coincidentally run into you, you wouldn’t mind showing me to the kitchens, would you?”

Niall arches an eyebrow, but doesn’t ask why, probably because he knows Harry is about to bubble over with glee. He only has to wait a second or two. “We’re, um, sort of going on a first date. We’re baking cookies.” He’s not sure if the three of them had been listening in or if they’d been too far away to pick up on their conversation, and Niall’s face doesn’t betray much of anything except for a soft fondness. 

“Happy to,” Niall says, and he squeezes Harry’s shoulder.

*

Niall makes sure the kitchen is cleared out, even if Harry apologizes profusely at the cook having to leave her own domain. She doesn’t seem to mind though, smiles at him in a way that makes him feel almost soothed. She shows them where the baking supplies are, tells him they’ve got about an hour and a half to two hours before she has to start preparing for dinner, and to make sure to leave her some cookies. He’s happy to agree, has to consciously look where he’s going because it almost seems like he’s floating. 

He’s on a _date_. With _Louis_. His _soulmate_. He almost feels like pinching himself.

Once left to their own devices, Harry watches in amusement as Louis hops up to sit on one of the counters, legs swinging ever so slightly as he looks at Harry. “I’m a shit baker,” he informs Harry, a cheeky grin on his face, and Harry snorts.

“So this date idea of yours, it wasn’t _us_ baking as much as it is me slaving away at the stove for you?”

Louis shrugs a shoulder, still smiling. “Wasn’t going to risk my chances and admit that before you agreed. Didn’t want you to change your mind.”

Harry sort of beams down at his shoes for a moment, aiming for casual and missing by a mile. “I wouldn’t have.”

He knows Louis knows that, but when he looks up the tips of Louis’ ears have gone pink, and he looks shyly pleased with himself.

“Can I teach you, though?” Harry asks, a minute later, once he’s grabbed all of his supplies. “I mean, not that I mind you sitting there and just looking pretty, because you _do_ , but, if you want to help, I can teach you.”

Louis snorts, but hops off the counter. “Good luck with that. I’ve got six younger siblings, half of whom love to bake, so I’ve spent a fair share of time in the kitchen. I’m actually a pretty good cook, just, baking’s different.”

Harry nods. “Baking’s more precise,” he says, and Louis arches an eyebrow as though he isn’t sure if what Harry said wasn’t offensive. “You have to really focus. I can imagine it’s not that easy with that many brothers and sisters running around.”

“Just the one brother,” Louis tells him, watching Harry crack eggs into a bowl, separating the yolk and egg whites. “Two sets of twins, in my family. There’s Daisy and Phoebe, who are ten, and the tiny twins are just under a year old. I’ve got two other sisters. Fizzy’s fourteen and Lots is sixteen. I just turned twenty three last week. We actually met on my birthday.”

Harry nods again. He remembers. He remembers everything Louis had said to him that night. Including the terrible names he’d called him. The memory no longer stings. “I was going to buy you a present,” he says softly, “but that felt presumptuous. I barely got you to agree to meet me.”

Louis smiles a bit at that. “That’s alright,” he says softly. “The cookies can be my present.” 

Harry glances down at the mixing bowl, hoping that these will be the best cookies he’s ever made. Louis deserves that much, at the very least. “Do you dislike when people spend money on you?” He asks, and he’s not subtle, probably, if Louis’ soft snort is any indication. “I mean. I’ve got loads of it, obviously. More than I’d know what to do with. Or I will, once I take the throne.”

He can tell by the way that Louis is biting his lip that he’s trying not to speak out of turn, and Harry gives him a soft nudge. “What is it?” He asks. “You can tell me.”

Louis shrugs. “It’s just. It’s sort of unfair, isn’t it? You having more money than you know what to do with. Meanwhile, so many people live paycheck to paycheck. What makes you more deserving than any of them?” He looks unsure as he says it, so Harry makes sure to smile at him.

“Nothing, really. Just the fortune of being born into royalty, I guess.” He reaches for the flour and a measuring cup, focuses on getting just the right amount of flour in. “You’re right though. It is unfair. I’d love to change it. I don’t want to be remembered for being king despite not being the firstborn. Or for going public about my soulmark. I want to do _good_.” He looks at Louis, who is leaning against the counter, close enough that Harry could reach out and touch him. “I want someone by my side who will hold me accountable.” He says quietly. “Someone who will call me out on my privilege and help me be the best version of myself that I can be.”

He wonders if that’s why Louis is his soulmate, and not Landon, or some other noble. Because Louis knows firsthand what it’s like to not be born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Maybe that’s also why Shawn is Niall’s soulmate. Because it brings perspective, and it makes them strive to do better. 

Louis smirks again, gently nudges his elbow into Harry’s side. “I did always have trouble biting my tongue.” He admits, staying closer. Close enough that Harry can practically feel the warmth of his body. His heart feels like it’s about to burst. 

“Good.” Is all he manages.

*

They make three different kinds of cookies. Chocolate chip, of course, because you can’t go wrong with chocolate chip. Oatmeal raisin, which Louis scoffs at but Harry makes him promise to try, because the recipe he has learned has never failed to be a success. And chewy caramel cookies, during which Harry teaches Louis how to whisk. 

They talk loads, while they bake. About their pasts, their families. About the things they want for the future. Hopes and dreams and goals and fears. Things that aren’t usually brought up on the first date but somehow Harry doesn’t feel rushed, doesn’t feel like they’re talking about it just because there’s the prospect of marriage in less than a month. 

It does help though. The more he gets to know Louis, the less scared he is of the future. Of Louis saying no, when he inevitably asks him to marry him. He knows that it isn’t ideal, far from, but he also knows that as long as they both feel like they’re headed towards marriage anyway, the timing really isn’t that important.

He reminds himself though, that he _doesn’t_ know that. That just because it feels so perfect, it doesn’t mean that Louis shares that sentiment. Even when they’re laughing, even when they end up covered in flour and Louis moans when he tastes the first oatmeal raisin cookie and looks so embarrassed that Harry just sort of sways where he stands, the desire to kiss him almost too overwhelming to ignore. It all feels good, feels _right_ , but until they talk about it, until he asks, he won’t know for sure.

He knows all that, but to go from knowing that to actually asking is a _big_ step, and part of Harry is worried that he’ll end up ruining a great date. Maybe it’s the coward’s way out, but he’d rather bask in this for another while.

It’s around four thirty - when they’ve just wrapped up all of their cookies, leaving enough out for the cook - when the little spell they’re under gets broken, cook coming into the kitchen with an apologetic smile. Harry, who has spent the last fifteen minutes clearing up while Louis had reclaimed his spot on the counter and watched, tampers down the fear that threatens to bubble up, the knowledge that they’re running out of time suddenly creeping back up on him. He manages a smile for the cook, gestures towards the cookies and thanks her, his voice not quite as steady as he’d like.

They’re quiet as they exit the kitchens, and for a moment they just stand there, looking everywhere but at each other.

“I-” Harry starts, but he doesn’t even know where to go from there, in spite of Louis’ hopeful face. He bites down on his bottom lip. “This was-” he tries, but he falls quiet a second time.

“Yeah.” Louis says vaguely, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’s holding three boxes in his hand, with a ridiculous amount of cookies. They hadn’t really discussed it, but Harry likes the idea of Louis taking them home, sharing them with his family. It almost feels like he’s sharing _him_ with his family. “These boxes are heavy.” He complains quietly, and it takes Harry a moment to catch on.

“Do you want me to-” he whispers, and Louis nods before he’s even finished speaking.

“Maybe you could stay for dinner too,” he suggests. Harry’s not sure how he’s not melting into a puddle on the floor right now, with Louis sounding so sweet and almost shy. 

He nods. “I’d like that,” he tells him, not even bothering to hide how eager he is.

Louis’ chuckle is breathy. “Cool.” He says, and it’s probably supposed to sound casual, but Harry can tell from his expression that he’s all too aware of how he didn’t manage.

He shifts forward, takes a box out of Louis’ arms. “Cool,” he echoes, his voice giddy.

*

Despite Louis’ complaints - that really don’t sound that much like he’s actually trying - they don’t go back by bus. But they don’t go by limo either, because Harry doesn’t want it to be that obvious, even if they’re only dropped off at Louis’ house. Instead Paul pulls up in a nice town car, and Harry has never been so happy to see him in his entire life. It’s not that he doesn’t like Niall’s entourage, they’re all very friendly, but he knows there’s still some odd looks here and there, considering that he technically broke off their engagement. 

Over the years, Paul’s job had changed, from protecting Harry from the masses of people wanting to meet him, to just protecting Harry. Harry doesn’t necessarily like the idea of needing a bodyguard, but if he has to have one, Paul is definitely the man for the job. 

Louis pulls him into conversation, and for the half hour drive, Harry just stares out of the window, his cheeks aching from how much he’s smiling. 

When they’re just a few blocks away, Louis informs him that he doesn’t live with his family anymore, that he’s recently moved out, into an apartment with Zayn. They live just above his flower shop, Louis mentions, and Harry wonders again what will happen with that shop in the future. He can see Liam here, is the thing. Living his life in Ireland, hopelessly in love with his florist boyfriend. As much as Harry wants to be selfish and keep Liam in his life, he’d never want to do anything that makes him unhappy. 

“What do you do?” He asks, his train of thought not quite making as much sense to Louis as it had to him, if the small quirk of his eyebrow is any indication. Harry wants to explain why he’s asking but he also doesn’t, because there are a lot of conversations to have before they can discuss who is moving where.

Though really, that’s not exactly up for discussion. Harry can’t fuck off to Ireland when he’s meant to lead a country. 

“I’m a writer,” Louis says, and Harry feels almost guilty about being relieved. The thing is, being husband to the King is going to be a fulltime job in itself, but he feels bad about asking Louis to give up his entire life just to follow him around. Him being a writer makes it easier though, because theoretically, all he needs is a place to write and a laptop. “Mainly think pieces. But I’ve been working on a collection of short stories in my spare time.”

Think pieces. Harry smiles. It makes sense. “I’d love to read some sometime,” he says. “Whatever you feel comfortable sharing.”

Louis smiles, then nudges Harry’s side. “Look. That’s the house I grew up in.” He motions towards a semi-detached property with a bright green front door. It looks small, to Harry’s eyes, but he knows that he’s not exactly got the right frame of reference. Still. Nine people in a house like that, it must be crowded. 

It’s clear Louis can tell what he’s thinking, because he shrugs. “It’s not much,” he says, and he sounds like he’s a little antagonized, as well as embarrassed. Harry wants to reach out and take his hand.

“It’s home,” Harry says, looking from the building to Louis. “I was just thinking - privacy must be hard to come by, living with so many people.” He watches as Louis frowns, wonders if he’s saying completely the wrong things. “But also, it sounds like it must be nice. Always having someone around. It’s - the castle doesn’t exactly feel like that. Cozy. I think I’d have liked to grow up someplace more like this.” 

That seems to mollify Louis somewhat. Harry feels the tension ease between them. “I’m sorry,” he says softly. “I didn’t mean to make you feel like your house was inadequate.”

Louis shrugs. “I mean. You’re right. It is small. I’m sure it looks like shit, if you’re used to living in a castle.” He gives Harry a soft smile. “You didn’t say anything wrong. You didn’t say anything at all, even. It’s just, seeing this, showing you this, it’s sort of unavoidable, I know, but, it made me think of how different our lives are. It sort of makes me wonder how I’ll ever measure up.”

He looks sheepish as he says it, and as Paul parks the car Louis is eager to get out, but Harry stops him, rests a hand on his wrist. “You more than measure up, Louis,” he says quietly, hoping that Louis will hear the sincerity in his tone. “You don’t need blue blood to be royalty. You - when it comes to having heart, you’ve got them all beat. They wish they could be half as wonderful as you are.”

Louis makes a face, but Harry can see the softness in his eyes. “Sap,” he murmurs, but he reaches out to tuck a curl of Harry’s hair behind his ear. “Save those things for my mum. You’re going to have to talk a good game if you’re going to convince her to let me skip off to England to marry a Prince.”

*

All the nerves that Harry had felt during the drive over to Louis’ mum’s house evaporate the moment he sets foot inside. Louis calls out a loud “I’m home! I brought cookies!” and out come Tomlinsons of various ages, some piling out of the living room, a couple bounding down the stairs, and finally, two adults, both carrying a child in that cute inbetween stage of baby and toddler. Harry resists the urge to immediately go over there and coo at the babies, instead staying back a little, blushing when Louis’ mum switches her attention from the children and the cookies ( _it’s nearly dinner time, you can have cookies afterwards_ ) to Harry. 

“Hello,” she says, and Harry feels relief, can tell from her tone that she isn’t aware of who he is. “I don’t think we’ve met before. Are you a friend of Lou’s?”

Harry glances from her to Louis, who is now box-less and standing in the middle of the hallway, a light pink colouring dusting his cheeks. “Um,” he says, and his movements seem clumsy as he moves to stand at Harry’s side. “This is Harry.”

Louis’ mum nods, and she’s halfway to crossing the hallway and shaking Harry’s hand when she seems to catch on. She freezes, in a way that would be comical if it hadn’t happened with Louis before, and Harry feels his heart ache. He wishes he could be just Harry, for a little while longer. That she wouldn’t snap straight into seeing him as his title. “Hi,” he says softly, stepping forward so he can shake her hand. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

“I - you- you’re Prince Harry,” she starts, and Louis makes a soft noise.

“It’s alright mum. He’s actually a decent bloke. It’s not his fault he was born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Don’t hold it against him.” He teases, and Harry is so grateful for the way he dispels the tension, the easy way he takes her hand and leads her into the living room. Harry follows, after taking off his shoes, and as he sits down on the couch, he can sense nine pairs of eyes on him. It’s only a _little_ awkward.

“Are you _really_ a Prince?” a soft voice asks, and Harry looks down at a ten year old girl, who is staring up at him as though every one of her fairytales has come true. “Do you live in a castle? Where is your crown?”

“Phoebe,” Louis’ mum warns softly, but it sounds faint.

“It’s alright,” Harry says, hoping that it is, hoping that he hasn’t shocked everyone to the point where this is all about to blow up in his face. “Phoebe, is it? Yeah, I am. And I do. It’s a really big castle, so it gets kind of lonely sometimes. I don’t wear a crown unless I have to. You wouldn’t think so, but they’re actually really heavy.” 

Phoebe seems to think about that for a moment, then nods. “Did you bake those cookies?” She asks, and Harry almost wants to laugh. Apparently Louis wasn’t the only Tomlinson who really liked cookies. 

“I did. Well, me and Louis. He helped.” He tells her. He bites his cheek when that information seems to worry her. Maybe Louis had been right when he’d told him he was shit at baking. Still, she seems to think that because _Harry_ baked them - a real life Prince! - that perhaps that was enough to make them tasty, because the next thing she does is turn to her mother, and oh, those puppy dog eyes are lethal. Harry hopes he’ll never have to be on the receiving end of them.

“Mum-” she starts, and Louis’ mother sighs. 

“Why don’t you go and set up for dinner, alright poppet. All of you, into the kitchen and dining room, please. Me and Lou need a little chat.” She looks from Phoebe to Harry, her face turning apologetic. “If you wouldn’t mind-” she says softly.

“Mum,” Louis interrupts, but Harry shakes his head.

“It’s alright.” There’s a conversation that needs to be had and Harry doesn’t think it’s right if he’s a part of it. Not because he doesn’t think Louis won’t be honest about his feelings even if he’s there - from what he’s learned about him so far, Louis prefers honesty over anything else - but because they have yet to have a conversation about where this will lead beyond tonight, and Louis could probably use some input from his mother before he makes any life altering decisions. No matter how old they are, Harry still values his mother’s opinions. “I can help set the table.”

Louis doesn’t look altogether happy about it, but he lets him go, and Harry follows the sounds of laughter and happy chatter into the kitchen, trying not to take it personally when those voices dim and silence falls over the room when he steps inside. It only lasts a moment or so though, because soon enough there’s all sorts of questions - about his life, about England, about Louis - that he tries his best to answer as they set the table in the dining room.

Louis hadn’t been lying. Life here was _loud_ , but Harry loves it. He loves the gentle teasing between all the Tomlinsons, loves the way that they’ve made this family work, fitting into spaces that should be too small for the amount of people that are there. It’s almost like a dance, the way they make room for one another, never bump into each other as plates and cutlery are handed out. It’s hard not to feel at ease here, even if he should be the one sticking out like a sore thumb, he never feels like it. 

The conversation between Louis and his mum doesn’t take too long, and soon they’re filing into the dining room, Louis giving Harry a small smile as he sits next to him. It’s private, and Harry tries to read into it, to figure out where his head is at, but Louis just rubs his thumb over Harry’s knee and mouths ‘later’. 

Later it is, and Harry doesn’t know why he suddenly feels so nervous. 

*

Once dinner is over, and the youngest twins are put to bed while the older ones are on washing up duty, Louis leads Harry outside, into a lovely fenced off garden. There’s a swing bench underneath a sturdy looking tree, and Louis heads towards it, sitting down and patting the space next to him. 

For a moment Harry considers staying put, because now that they are here he isn’t sure if he’s ready to hear whatever Louis has to say. Even if he doesn’t truly think it will be bad. He knows Louis likes him, to an extent at least. He knows that counts for something. But is it enough? To combat all those things that work against them? Harry knows what he’s asking Louis to give up. Can he give enough in return? 

His legs feel weak though, so he does sit down next to Louis, trying to quell the nerves by breathing in and out very slowly. It gets a little easier when Louis reaches out and slides his fingers in between Harry’s, but not by a lot. It does sort of become the focal point of his existence for a moment, but that also makes him _so_ aware of everything he stands to lose. Or gain. He’s got to keep positive.

“Did you have a good talk with your mum?” He asks, when it becomes clear that Louis isn’t going to break the silence. His voice comes out almost breathy, but it’s the best he can do for now. 

Louis hums, absently brushing his thumb back and forth over Harry’s knuckles. “She told me that this was not going to be easy.”

There’s a panic threatening to claw its way up Harry’s throat, and no amount of breathing makes it go down. He still tries, swallows but his throat feels tight. “What isn’t?” He asks, and this time it’s no more than a whisper. 

Louis sighs softly. “This. _Us_.”

Harry doesn’t tell him that he understood that much. He wants to beg Louis to take pity on him, to elaborate before he loses his mind. “Do you - do you want to - do you know what you want?” 

There’s silence for a moment, one that seems to stretch out into the night air, but wraps itself around them like a vice, making Harry feel cornered even when he only has to look up to see the stars. He wants to take the question back so badly, but he also knows that one way or another, there is no way to avoid this conversation. 

“I don’t know,” Louis says quietly. “I mean.” He sighs, turns a bit towards Harry, who can’t avert his eyes no matter how badly part of him wants to look away, just in case he doesn’t like what he sees in Louis’ eyes. “I don’t want us to be together just because we’re soulmates. Just because the universe tells us to. Because that shouldn’t be the only reason. And I don’t want to be with you just because you need to be married to someone before you take the throne. That is a bullshit law to begin with, if you ask me, and it pisses me off, because it means we’re running out of time before we’ve even begun to get to know each other.” He takes a harsh breath, releases it slowly when Harry squeezes his hand in a feeble attempt to comfort him, or perhaps just to calm him down. “It isn’t right. I shouldn’t feel trapped. Going into a relationship, a marriage, that shouldn’t feel like a chore.”

Harry bites his lip. Tries really hard not to cry. “It shouldn’t,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, Louis. I’m _so_ sorry that it had to be like this.” The last thing he ever wanted was for Louis to feel as stuck as Harry had done in the past year. 

“I know.” Louis gives his hand a soft squeeze back. “I know you are. And I know that this isn’t your fault. I get that. You’ve been in this situation for a lot longer than I have. And whatever I’m feeling, I know that you must have gone through it too. And you didn’t get a choice, did you?” He sighs again, his thumb resuming that soft motion, brushing over Harry’s knuckles. “At least I do. I can make the decision to walk away.”

Harry bites his lip harder, hard enough to hurt. To taste blood. 

“But then,” Louis continues quietly, “where would that leave me? Where would that leave _you_? You called off the wedding. You’re going to have less than a month to find someone else?” He scoffs. “I don’t even want to _think_ about you marrying someone else. It was hard enough when it was Prince Niall, and at least I know that he would’ve tried his hardest to make you happy. But even then - I’d have to watch you, because God knows I wouldn’t be able to _not_ watch you. I’d want to know if you were okay. But that would mean that I’d spend the rest of my life keeping tabs on you, knowing that I blew our shot just because I didn’t like the circumstances.”

It’s so hard not to interrupt, but Harry keeps quiet, barely dares to breathe. He is too scared to hope, but too infatuated with the possibilities to give up hope at the same time. 

Louis ends up sighing again, shrugging a shoulder. “I guess what I’m saying is, maybe we can change it, at some point. I mean. You’ve gotten my King and Queen to change their laws. When you’re King, it should be easier, shouldn’t it?” He looks at Harry. “Just because something has always been done a certain way doesn’t mean that that is the best way to keep doing it. We owe it to people to be critical of what we do. Personally, I think future generations should have more time. Maybe twenty one was a great age in the middle ages, but now? I’m twenty three and I’m nowhere near figuring out my life, I can’t even imagine being twenty, like you, and having to pick out who you’re going to be spending the rest of your life with.”

Harry takes a deep, shivery breath. “When you say _we_ -” he starts, his hopes up now despite the part of him that vividly remembers all the issues Louis had voiced no more than a few minutes ago. 

Louis snorts, glancing down at his lap, before looking back up at Harry, his expression soft. “Leave it to me to be doing this all backwards. Though, I guess, that sort of fits our relationship, doesn’t it? I mean. I knew I’d have to marry you before we even went on our first date.” The corner of his mouth tugs up into a small grin. “Mum was right. This isn’t going to be easy.” He brings their joined hands up to his face, resting a cheek against Harry’s knuckles before laying a soft kiss to the skin. “But there’s one thing that I know with even more certainty than I know that.”

Harry’s heart feels like it isn’t sure whether to stop or trip over itself. “What?” He breathes. “What is it you know?”

Louis smiles. “That it is going to be worth it.”

~~♥~~

When Prince Harry Edward Desmond Styles, of the reigning House of Styles, the Royal Family of the United Kingdom and its Commonwealth Countries, is ten, he receives his soulmark. 

When Prince Harry Edward Desmond Styles, of the reigning House of Styles, the Royal Family of the United Kingdom and its Commonwealth Countries is twenty years, ten months and 24 days, he meets his soulmate. 

Their love has turned out to be one years in the making, but once they get past that initial hurdle, sparks fly.

On December 31st, at ten minutes to midnight, to a new year, Louis says “fuck it” and kisses Harry, because the prospect of waiting another ten minutes is too much to bear.

(They’re still kissing by the time the clock chimes, so Harry figures it still counts)

January is spent preparing for their wedding, and finding little moments whenever they can to just be together. 

Louis convinces Zayn to do the flowers for the wedding. It’s the last job Zayn does, before closing up his shop to relocate to England.

Harry is ecstatic about this, but it can’t hold a candle to how absolutely euphoric Liam is at having his soulmate move to England to be with him. It means that he doesn’t have to give up his job, can still be in Harry’s life the way he’s always been. (Louis says that the only reason Zayn’s doing it is because he’d be miserable without _him_ , but Harry knows that Louis is just as happy to have his own best friend around as he is.)

Everything seems to work out, for once, and with four days to go until his birthday - and the coronation - Louis and Harry tie the knot in a small, intimate ceremony.

There’s a bigger wedding planned for when they’re more settled, one where the press is invited and the whole country gets to watch it be televised on TV, but this, today, is just for them.

Louis’ entire family is there, as is Harry’s, and while the former were understandably intimidated at first, it doesn’t take them too long to relax. Queen Anne has got baby Ernie on her lap, and Harry’s pretty sure that he last saw Gemma surrounded by a bunch of girls who are in awe of the fact that they’re in the presence of a _real_ Princess. 

Despite the fact that they ‘broke up’, Niall has come down, and Harry only has to take one look at his plus one to know that he’s taken full advantage of the new law, that had been signed only a few days prior. Shawn looks handsome, and both of them can’t stop smiling, and if Harry wasn’t already emotional due to the fact that this is his wedding day, the way Niall looks today would be enough to set him over the edge.

The final two to round out their company are the best men, Liam and Zayn. England suits Zayn, or maybe it’s just being with Liam that suits him, because he looks positively radiant in his suit, and Harry would worry about not being able to hold a candle to him if it weren’t for the expression in Louis’ eyes whenever he looks at him. 

They’ve only known each other for a little over a month, but in that month, Harry has never felt more loved, challenged, or accepted. He can’t wait to spend the rest of his life exactly like that. With a husband who will help him to confront his preconceptions, who will teach him how to use his privilege for good. Who will challenge him to be better, every single day. Who is loud and playful and the best cuddler Harry has ever met. 

It has taken him ten years, but he’s finally exactly where he should be. And with Louis by his side, Harry knows that he’ll be able to handle anything that comes their way.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this fic, please consider leaving kudos and commenting (they nourish my writer's soul!) 
> 
> If you like, you can also reblog my [fic post](https://so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed.tumblr.com/post/611737145908019200/with-no-way-out-and-a-long-way-down-prince-harry) on Tumblr! And feel free to come talk to me anytime!


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